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<blockquote data-quote="CanadienneBacon" data-source="post: 6674565" data-attributes="member: 11146">Marks nodded.&nbsp; &quot;Good deal.&nbsp; Take the van.&nbsp; Leave at 9:00, you should be there in plenty of time to make your 10 am shoot time at the range.&nbsp; Take Washington Street east, it turns into U.S. Hwy 40.&nbsp; It's a straight shot all the way to Greenfield, probably take you about half an hour, tops.&nbsp; I think it's only something like twenty miles...there's lots of stop-and-go traffic until you get past Sam's Club on Washington, then it's smooth sailing.&nbsp; Should be a nice, quiet drive.&nbsp; I'll drop off the SHO at the repair shop while you're out.&nbsp; Meet back here tonight.&quot;&nbsp; Marks looked sheepish for a moment.&nbsp; &quot;Headquarters wasn't too happy about the train wreck.&nbsp; So text if you'll be past 6 pm, yeah?&nbsp; You're still synced up on your anklets, too.&quot;&nbsp; He flipped the van keys to J.R.&nbsp; &quot;You'll be spending the next three days at the range, rain or shine, so play nice with the Deputy.&quot;J.R. drove.&nbsp; He was moody today, quiet, and left everyone else alone.&nbsp; Once everyone was loaded in the cargo van, J.R. took a left turn onto East Washington Street and eased the vehicle into the flow of traffic.&nbsp; The van trucked in the right hand lane past the usual brown brick craftsman style homes with concrete porches and sagging asphalt roofs, empty parking lots riddled with weeds and cracks lining strip mall after strip mall, past the BestBuy, and past a Sam's Club of truly alarming proportion on the righthand side of the road.&nbsp; The intersection immediately after the Sam's Club was the crossroads of East Washington and German Church Road.&nbsp; A three-story brown brick building with limestone cornerstones stood on the northeastern corner of the intersection.&nbsp; It was a lovely building with interesting features, but it had plywood boarded across its lower windows and someone had tagged it in black spray paint that read &quot;Subsurface&quot; in stylized print.&nbsp; Opposite the boarded-up brick building stood a field, probably corn if the orderly rows of fat yellowed stalks that had been shorn a foot above the loamy soil were anything to go by.The drive was quiet.&nbsp; Stark white clapboard farmhouses lined the U.S. Hwy 40 corridor, flanked at intervals by grain silos whose conical rooftops glinted in the wan winter sunlight.&nbsp; The silos were alien-looking, like space-age ships straight from a 1950s science fiction novel.&nbsp; Most of the snow from the last major storm had worn away after the last two days of sun.&nbsp; Only patches of brown slush remained along the roadside.After twenty-five minutes or so, the density of homes thickened, gave way to red brick ranch-style homes.&nbsp; J.R. looked down at the van's gas gauge and cussed.&nbsp; &quot;We gotsta stop.&nbsp; Need juice.&quot;&nbsp; He made a left into a Speedway gas station and pulled the van to a stop alongside a pump.&nbsp; &quot;I'll pump.&nbsp; Yous who need da restroom, get out now an' do your bidness.&quot;&nbsp; J.R. slid out of the driver's side seat and walked around to the pump, where he swiped his FCC debit card then started to fill up the tank.[ooc]It's 9:25 am.&nbsp; The gas station looks clean.&nbsp; The convenience store is manned by a young fat guy--what is it with all these corn-fed Hoosiers--and you guys can see an assortment of pre-packaged breakfast foods on a rotisserie-style incubator.&nbsp; There's also a large coffee station.&nbsp; And a VERY large selection of fountain soda, with advertised cup prices that run from 24 to 60 ounces, any size fountain soda for 0.79 cents.&nbsp; If anyone gets out of the van to use the restroom or buy something from the convenience store, let me know.[/ooc]</blockquote>

[QUOTE="CanadienneBacon, post: 6674565, member: 11146"] Marks nodded. [color=red]"Good deal. Take the van. Leave at 9:00, you should be there in plenty of time to make your 10 am shoot time at the range. Take Washington Street east, it turns into U.S. Hwy 40. It's a straight shot all the way to Greenfield, probably take you about half an hour, tops. I think it's only something like twenty miles...there's lots of stop-and-go traffic until you get past Sam's Club on Washington, then it's smooth sailing. Should be a nice, quiet drive. I'll drop off the SHO at the repair shop while you're out. Meet back here tonight."[/color] Marks looked sheepish for a moment. [color=red]"Headquarters wasn't too happy about the train wreck. So text if you'll be past 6 pm, yeah? You're still synced up on your anklets, too."[/color] He flipped the van keys to J.R. [color=red]"You'll be spending the next three days at the range, rain or shine, so play nice with the Deputy."[/color] J.R. drove. He was moody today, quiet, and left everyone else alone. Once everyone was loaded in the cargo van, J.R. took a left turn onto East Washington Street and eased the vehicle into the flow of traffic. The van trucked in the right hand lane past the usual brown brick craftsman style homes with concrete porches and sagging asphalt roofs, empty parking lots riddled with weeds and cracks lining strip mall after strip mall, past the BestBuy, and past a Sam's Club of truly alarming proportion on the righthand side of the road. The intersection immediately after the Sam's Club was the crossroads of East Washington and German Church Road. A three-story brown brick building with limestone cornerstones stood on the northeastern corner of the intersection. It was a lovely building with interesting features, but it had plywood boarded across its lower windows and someone had tagged it in black spray paint that read "Subsurface" in stylized print. Opposite the boarded-up brick building stood a field, probably corn if the orderly rows of fat yellowed stalks that had been shorn a foot above the loamy soil were anything to go by. The drive was quiet. Stark white clapboard farmhouses lined the U.S. Hwy 40 corridor, flanked at intervals by grain silos whose conical rooftops glinted in the wan winter sunlight. The silos were alien-looking, like space-age ships straight from a 1950s science fiction novel. Most of the snow from the last major storm had worn away after the last two days of sun. Only patches of brown slush remained along the roadside. After twenty-five minutes or so, the density of homes thickened, gave way to red brick ranch-style homes. J.R. looked down at the van's gas gauge and cussed. "We gotsta stop. Need juice." He made a left into a Speedway gas station and pulled the van to a stop alongside a pump. "I'll pump. Yous who need da restroom, get out now an' do your bidness." J.R. slid out of the driver's side seat and walked around to the pump, where he swiped his FCC debit card then started to fill up the tank. [ooc]It's 9:25 am. The gas station looks clean. The convenience store is manned by a young fat guy--what is it with all these corn-fed Hoosiers--and you guys can see an assortment of pre-packaged breakfast foods on a rotisserie-style incubator. There's also a large coffee station. And a VERY large selection of fountain soda, with advertised cup prices that run from 24 to 60 ounces, any size fountain soda for 0.79 cents. If anyone gets out of the van to use the restroom or buy something from the convenience store, let me know.[/ooc] [/QUOTE]

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