Bob jumped from the truck and hastened around back. The girls stood rubbing away the discomforts of travel and conversing quietly. He located the tent atop the cooking gear, with several cartons of cans and a case of Jack Daniels that had no retail stamp on it.
Bob was no more a stranger to alcohol-related petty theft than he was to camping equipment. He’d cut his teeth on both in the Boy Scouts, ironically enough, that organization of such moral rectitude. There he’d also discovered the delights of tobacco and cannabis.
The ladies had traded the first herb for the second. Ignoring the enticing smoke wafting his way, Bob figured out and set up the big square tent (about a dozen feet on a side and six up to eight at its peak) in a matter of minutes. He killed the lights and followed the
