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...the ranger knocked on the tinted rear-window with a hairy fist, and looked surprised as he eyed the camera and guitar. "You're making music?" he said, scratching his uneven mustache. "Well, this might be the most appropriate thing ever filmed in the back of a car..."
I handed him a CD and the couple dollars I had in my pocket, hoping he'd go away, but he just eyed the CD cover and swung a hefty leg up on the car bumber. I smelled something stronger than coffee on his breath.
"Well, well... This is you, huh?" he said, pointing at the picture and scratching himself higher up on his thigh than I would have preferred. "Do you play any Enrique Iglesias?"
I laughed, "Are you serious?" and his expression turned cold. He squared his shoulders.
"Now listen, son. Enrique is a talented young man. He is a shining light and an inspiration to us all. Got that? An inspiration."
I nodded my head.
"Well, Mr. I'm-Too-Good-For-Enrique-Iglesias, did you pay on your way in here?" He motioned at a pay booth at the parking lot's entrance.
I shook my head- No.
"Well, well... Then it looks like you're gonna be singing the I-Got-A-Citation Song, ain't ya? Mr. I-Think-I'm-Hotter-Than-Enrique-Iglesias-But-I'm-Not-Because-No-One-Is."
I thought it better not to respond to this last remark and sat silently, watching his belley jiggle as he scribbled on the ticket pad with obvious enjoyment.
"Here," he said at last, handing me the thin sheet of paper. "And maybe you'll think twice next time befrore talking bad about a musical legend... Or not paying at a parking lot. That too."
He cleared his throat and spat on the ground for emphasis before walking off, humming something which sounded suspiciously close to 'Bailamos'.
...I don't like park rangers very much.
(...or Enrique either.)
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