Jim yelled, “Hey Tony!  I fucked up your truck!  Whaddaya gonna do about it?  He was in the bed of the thirty-six pickup truck that  Tony had restored.  The “Black Crow” he called it.  Jim had snuck through the chain link fence around the parking lot where Tony kept it and plugged a hole in it with his shotgun.  If you crawled under the truck and looked up, you would have a good view of the sky through the gaping hole that Jim made.  Jim called out Tony knowing that nobody was around.  You see, Jim was basically nothing more than a fucking drunk coward.  Jim got tired of  yelling at nobody and got back on his motorcycle and rode back to town.  Fucking coward.    Looking tough, with his tattoos and hangdog snarl.  Once I saw French Billy, the dude who sold Tony the Crow, beat the piss out of him and he cried like a baby girl.  Billy was from France and when Jim started bawling he cursed him out in French.  All of  Missoula heard about that.  Once  Jim tried to kick-start his bike and his foot slipped and he broke his ankle.  Fucking moron.