The Rev. Dr. Randall Nathan, (Retard), was sitting with Claire at the “Good To the Last Slop Coffee House and Former Pig Barn” when four sixtyish ladies in blue jeans and white running jeans and gray ponytails and orange tee-shirts proclaiming “Persimmon Fest 2010” came bustling in.
“I’ll bet you can’t tell what we’re here for,” the one with the little foofie that looked like a broomstick on her ponytail yelled.
“The hookers’ convention?” Randall asked.
“I’ll bet you’re a preacher,” the woman retorted, arms akimbo.
“Not since he started making comments like that,” observed Claire.
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