“Who the fuck are you?” he asked belligerently, standing up and glaring at her.

“I’m Judith,” she replied, “the note said to drive here.”

He looked at Judith, looked at her car, then turned to the young kid on the motorbike. “The red fucking truck you clown. That’s a Honda fucking Civic.”

The kid’s eyes went wide,. His hands dropped to his crotch, pressing against the swelling beneath his biking leathers, and he started to stutter pleas for mercy. Judith watched in fascination, she’d never seen a college aged kid act like a two year old needing the potty, and she missed the elder man pulling a device from his pocket, pressing a button on it. The result was instantaneous, an explosion from the kid’s rear end, his jeans now bulging even further at the back.

“Now,” instructed the man, “Ride back and put that note on the fucking truck this time. Get it right if you want a change when you get back.”