I went to the locksmith shop around the corner to make a duplicate of my car key because I had a scare recently when my key fell off my keyring, and I couldn't find a spare. One finally turned up in the Jack Daniels box full of junk in my junk drawer, of all places, but it seemed like a good time to back my shit up.The shop around the corner boasts, "Keys that work." Really? As opposed to ones that don't open a damn thing? The guy who works there is nice enough, his shop looks like nothing has changed in fifty years, he has all kinds of nick knacks like ceramic cats and embroidered religious messages, and all this seems just fine to me, I suppose - But here's what is really out of whack: He turned around to make my key to reveal in the back of his head a . . . a gray rat tail! It's not like he's like fifty, and is holding onto that look. He's like seventy and doesn't dress, look, or act the least bit punk or redneck. It's just . . . weird.
Oh well, Gray Rat Tail. Keep buzzen' up those keys with your weird hair cause it's characters like you that make this the best city in the free world.
