When things like that happen you tend to just follow along. Don ‘t do anything stupid or make any sudden movements or try to be a hero and the whole thing will likely pass without having anybody get bent. That’s what Herman thought as he strode purposefully into the laundromat that afternoon. He had with him a load of whites, a pocket of quarters, and a screwdriver. He knew that the screw driver might have been construed as a weapon… in fact he had hoped it would be. He brandished it with something approaching zeal, waving it around has he pointed at notes on the bulletin board, the television, the bar across the street. Inside that bar, the one across the street there, Herman had done something. He was trying to wash it out of his usually clean white t-shirts but he couldn’t. He had done the most unbelievable and unnatural thing he had ever done… across the street… in that bar. STOP…NOT…WORKING… This is a dead end my friend… what you are reading right now is not going anywhere… if you have read this far and have taken an interest in Herman and what it was he did in that bar over there… across the street… then I will leave it to you… to your imagination… to imagine just what it was… what Herman did in that bar… over there.. across the street. I just can’t…