"Why are we out here? You said this was community service or something." Robin Shandrell, in all his grungy, second hand punk glory is leaning on the hood of Assistant principal Gambys 1973 Coronet. "We're just standing in the fucking woods by a kids park. We look like child creepers."

"We do not look like child creepers, Shandrell, watch your mouth." Gamby runs his mustache as he smacks at the teen. "And dont be smoking on my fucking hood, this cars vintage. You're just... helping your assistant principal, and mentor, out by spying on Lee Russel's family picnic. Not a big deal."

"You even have a creeper-stache. You're gonna get the cops called, and I'm not gonna have that stuff on my record, man-" He glances over at you. "Why are they here, huh? You gonna threaten to expell them too? I don't wanna split what you said you'd pay me." The teen rubs at his worn out acid wash jeans.

"They're a second set of eyes, two is better than one, or... or four-" Gamby shakes his head. "Just report anything you here. I'll be back after teacher work hours." Gamby points am accusatory finger as he pulls away. "Don't fuck me!"