There is no taboo in this room, and the sights, sounds, and smells of human indecency are both repulsive and alluring.

Outside of Bushnell someone gets a tire shot on me, and I have to put on the spare under a hail of crossfire. Fortunately, one of the other gunmen feels threatened by the poor aim of the first, so he opens fire on him. Feeling threatened, as anyone would, the original shooter returns fire. It provides me the cover to put on the donut. Driving 45 miles per hour makes the trip much more treacherous, and I am fired upon several more times. Plus the zig-zagging kills my gas mileage, adding insult to near fatality. By the time I arrive at the Marriott, I have missed all of JT’s concert and most of the opening night of the CIPR Stats Convention. 

As I walk past the front desk a group of insurance agents walks by. I catch just a bit of the conversation, enough to know that I have missed this party, and that the next one won’t be until some international event in a place called Somerset, Samercan, or something like that. I wander the halls and see a number of young women in lingerie and cowboy boots who appear to be attending a JT McDrew-themed swinger event. 

I follow them at a safe distance and end up in a large ballroom teeming with people in all manner of country-pop inspired costume and sexual frenzy. There is no taboo in this room, and the sights, sounds, and smells of human indecency are both repulsive and alluring.

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