When the train stopped at Trenton a lady got on and sat right next to me. The cart was empty for chrissake. I started shooting the bull with her and it turned out she was this guy's mother. Ernest Morrow he was called he was a complete phony bastard. Anyway I carried on shooting the bull with her until she got off the train at Newark and invited me to Ernest's house. I wouldn't visit that sonuvabitch for all the dough in the world.
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