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Driving to 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue

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            Spider woman in the front seat, screamin’ ‘Go, go go,’

            He’s ridin’ the accelerator down to the floor with his fuzzy little toe

            Duncan Fletcher howled along with his jam as he cruised along Pennsylvania Avenue.  He knew his dad would totally wig out when he discovered his car was missing, but Duncan was still feeling pretty boss about his decision to jack his dad’s company car without permission.  These wheels were so choice! Like he was really going to pick up a totally slammin’ blonde like Hallie in the old station wagon!  As if!  When she saw him drive up in this cool, red BMW blasting the tunes of The Presidents of the United States of America from his ride’s built in compact disc player (radical!), she was going to think he was the bomb.

            And she would be right.

            He brushed back his long, caramel-colored tresses and popped a stick of Bubble Beeper bubble gum in his mouth.

            Hitting a red light, he pulled out a rumpled piece of paper and studied it in the dim cyan light of his car’s built in compact disc player—he still couldn’t get over that!  So sweet!

            “1600 Pennsylvania Avenue,” he read aloud, wondering why the address sounded so familiar.  It’s not as if he got in this direction very often—it was always a zoo of tourists and protesters—

            Speaking of protesters, one of them took the red light as an opportunity to bang his car.  She was chanting about war or families or the world wide web—whatever.  Duncan didn’t really keep up with politics.

            He cranked open his car window.  “Dude!” he yelled, “What are you, tweaked?  Hands off the car!  My dad’ll go postal if it gets dented.”

            Before she could respond, the light changed to green and Duncan vroomed ahead.

            1600 Pennsylvania Avenue, 1600 Pennsylvania Avenue…

            He slowed down. He must be getting close.  Then his headlights illuminated a sign on the fence—1600 Pennsylvania Avenue!

            He looked up at the house and…oh no.  His spirits as low as his score on his constitution exam, he realized that maybe Hallie didn’t think he was so dope after all.

            “Ha ha, Hallie,” he murmured.  “If you didn’t want to go to the dance with me, you could have just told me.  Giving me a fake address is just so not dank.”

            He tossed the paper out of his car window and looked at the clock.  Huh.  If he went home now, he could still make it for most of the TGIF lineup.