It had been a well known fact that the 12th Street district had been closed off now for a good few weeks. Rumors were that this had to do with """renovations""" and things like """repaving the roads""", or """getting rid of stray deflated basketballs""". Those in the know however knew that this had been nothing but a façade, a farce, a fairytale!

After all, the true reason for 12th Street closing for the time being had nothing to do with renovations, it was because the 12th Street Public Toilets had been considered a level 4 biohazard and thus a threat to the health of all US citizens. There were rumors of horrible toilet-plague bearing RAT infestations, poisonous clouds floating about carrying all sorts of unknown diseases, and people even whispered that the ghost of MikeTyson could be seen stalking the stalls at night.

More proof of its disastrous effects on human health (and sanity) could be found in the tragic story of FrizzleFry, some speculation had been circulating that the true reason he had retired into that country-mansion was because he had fallen gravely ill after being bitten by a 12th Street Public Rat and from being exposed to the toxic fumes for too long due to his frequent visits to the stall with the gloryhole wall.

All in all there was enough proof that the 12th Street Public Toilets were a menace to public health and that the closure was more than justified (though the real reason for it was covered up). Void saw a chance at turning it into a profit though...

A large stall had been erected with the words 12TH CITY EXCLUSION ZONE TOURS on them, you could see several shoddily-constructed gasmasks displayed on the counter and Void sat behind it, head resting on his arm with an expression of boredom, with Carrot the Parrot sat on his head.

Seeing a potential customer approach he perked up and quickly got on his feet, Carrot swiftly flew off and sat himself on the top of the stall instead, giving you a displeased glare for disturbing his rest.

"Hello there! As you are likely aware coming to the border of this cordoned-off area, what lies beyond is the '12th City Exclusion Zone' as I've come to call it. What was once inaccessible because of the covered-up ecological disaster caused by those nefarious public toilets (in particular because of the explosion that happened in Stall 4) has now become accessible once more for sightseeing tours."

"'How?' You ask? Because I know just the right routes to get around the military who guards its border. Now for a modest entry fee we shall be on our way to see the wonderful historically-rich sights of the 12th Street Public Toilets. Just put on this gasmask, carry this geiger counter and sign this form which states that you will not sue me for any injuries or lasting ailments suffered in the 12th Street Exclusion Zone and releases me from any personal liability whatsoever."

"My final advice for when you've crossed the border would be to not look down the chasm left in Stall 4. It was rumored that was the stall that Hobbs frequented before the toilet-explosion incident which set in motion 12th Street's closure."

Carrot the Parrot flew down and perched himself on Void's shoulder and screeched "HOBBER SUCKS, HOBBER SOCKS". Void turned his head to the side and looked at his feathered compatriot with a puzzled stare. "Carrot, that was the wrong line."

Not really in a rush to make a ball game he promised a local political figurehead of the corner he would make, Paddy wandered down a sidewalk with a blue rubber ball bouncin' in front of him. His tongue was stickin' out of his face as he threw punchin' combinations and ducked underneath the apex of the ball's bounce. 

WHOOO-SAAAA

He lets out a quick 1 plus 2 unbuckled your shoe as he dives under the ball again. As he returns to a stand in his stride, he catches the ball with his right hand. Approachin' a crossin' he didn't seem to be all too familiar with. It was the motor city, after all, the thoroughfare was buzzin' with life. Cars whizzed past as the mobster made of the toughest dirt from the place where Earth squirts, the stinky Pitruzzello fello' was caught with his head inside finger guns. The left pointer finger in a relaxed curve to the temple as his thumb supports his head. He wonders where he's supposed to go at this he'yuh crossroad in time. What would happen if he chose this path instead of that path?

Paddy decided to do what any mad lad consumed by the urges of his criminal rage would do.

He flings the ball across the street, sidearmed with a grip makin' a circle with pointer and thumb. His knuckles were locked in place, the ball sat between his middle finger and ring, pinky cuspin' the very edge of the ball. The ball curves and bounces back. It was on a course slightly to the left of Paddy.

Snappin' into action the stinky Pitruzzello fello' found hisself runnin' through traffic, a car didn't get the memo upon take-off. Paddy slid over the hood as he crossed at a peculiar angle. He found hisself turnin' port side down 12th street. 

He systematically picked the pocket of just about every civilian he crossed over behind, shuckin' and jivin' through foot traffic. He found a fence about 8 feet tall protectin' some kind of business of some kind. Paddy was just cuttin' a corner gettin' to goin' where he thought he was supposed to be, but really he had nowhere to be. 

The confused cops on Paddy's payroll just drive off, grumblin' to each other as the ghost cap'n of his own ship sailed through some weird shit. Their jalopy lets out 2 gunshot sounds from the exhaust. Well not exactly gunshots, but you know what I mean. Paddy continues on his venture as a goat in the backseat of the jalopy begins to gloat.

Paddy lets out a gloat back as he drifts off into another adventure off behind the walls of this establishment he'yuhh.