2) They play it at the DMV.
3) This is no good for me
Sitting in a hard plastic school desk with the tinny warble of ukulele on the overhead speaker, I white-knuckled the pencil through the driver's test in a state of distraction. Evidently this is the key to DMV success; I slapped the finished test up on the desk, did a little happy dance at my best score ever, made a lemur face for the camera, and 30 seconds later I was walking home with a shiny new Hawaii license. The sky was blue, the trees were green and red and yellow, and the world is no longer monochromatic California brown.
Gavin has been spending his days playing with the girl next door, a nice kid with a swingy cropped haircut and big dilated anime eyes. We extracted him from her house and headed to the hardware store in the afternoon. I spent $7 on specialty dish soap and bought Gavin a twisty popsicle. Halfway to the gas station, he began making distressed noises, and I looked back to see his popsicle streaming like a fountain down onto his lap, the twists acting as irrigation troughs. "Disaster!" he wailed, licking frantically. "Let me show you how to do that," I said, then half the popsicle broke off and I accidentally inhaled it. We disposed of the popsicle at 7-11 and got a Slurpee instead.
We drove over H-3, happy to see the mountains, and spent a while lying in Maura's quarantine cell during visitor's hours. The animal quarantine units look like a cross between chicken coops and an internment camp; rows of large outdoor sheds partially walled with chain-link fence. Not so bad, really - I had been envisioning something like a Japanese capsule hotel.
So, not this:
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