"Maybe it was friends with the tortoise." Vincent shrugs, watching the bird strut off down the street. "We can worry about the contents of the trunk later." He shuts it unceremoniously.
"We need to garb ourselves in more appropriate clothing now. Come." He ushers them across the street to a used clothing store, cash in hand.
As if it were only seconds later, the three emerge, fashionably dressed and looking sharp. However, their moment of poise is interrupted by high-pitched squeals, as a small horde of scantily clad women appear at one end of the block and rush towards them at top speed.
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