Future NASCAR driver or inmate


This kid’s a handful.

“He was a good driver for being 10 years old,” an eyewitness to the chase told News 5. “He was three foot tall. He was a very short kid. I don’t see how he even looked over the steering wheel.”

That’s a quote from a WaPo story:

He had his mom chasing after him in another car:

“Oh my f—— God,” the woman told police after calling 911. “My son’s going to kill himself before you guys get here.”

He did not go willingly:

The boy, who was not identified, was then pulled out of the car, which belongs to his mother’s boyfriend, through the window before kicking and spitting at the troopers, state patrol Lt. Richard Reeder told Cleveland.com.


Sounds like the start of a Hal Needham film. Cut forward 30 years and he’s played by Burt Reynolds.


Not to sound rude, but sounds like he has a very stupid mother and boyfriend. First time that happens the keys are permanently locked away and made totally inaccessible. But they didn’t do that so this happened a second time. At some point the parents need to have charges of negligence looked at.

“Oh my f—— God,” the woman told police after calling 911. “My son’s going to kill himself before you guys get here.”

“Why did you do this when I kept trying to get you to stop?” his mother asks. “You could have got killed.”

A better parent would have said:

“Oh my f—— God,” the woman told police after calling 911. “My son’s going to kill someone before you guys get here.”

“Why did you do this when I kept trying to get you to stop?” his mother asks. “You could have got killed someone.”

If I’d done this as a kid, my parents would have ripped me to shreds for endangering other people.


I can’t imagine stealing my dad’s car. It goes beyond anything I might ever have done as a kid.


Ah, but what about mom’s boyfriend’s car? A whole other dynamic at play I think.


Was he listening to a classical music song called Sabotage during the pursuit?


The only car I ever took for a joyride was taken from a used car lot. A buddy of mine had lifted the spare set of keys from the key rack in the dealer’s office while there dealing on another car.

It was 1977. I was 16. The car was on ramps in the display corner of the lot. It was about 2:00 a.m. The car was a maroon 1976 Pontiac Trans Am with about 8,000 miles, identical to this one (I think the lighting is bad, as the color appears off):

It’s a very long story, but it ended in a police chase involving many officers. I was a stupid kid. Ironically, the chase (a long one) I mentioned was entirely on foot, because at some point I realized the jig was up, and parked the car as they were surrounding me, got out, and ran like hell. It’s a great story that I love to tell, but tl;dr I got away.

I’ve since owned and sold 4 Trans Ams (in the years shortly following that), but always wanted one just like that one. [sigh] And now I cannot afford one.



Should I ever win the lottery (I may want to consider buying a ticket some day, because I haven’t won with my current approach of wistfully dreaming about it), for that story you’ll get one


If I send you a few bucks, you can buy the tickets. I don’t know how, as I have never bought one myself. On the grounds that ever since my state adopted the lottery, those damn ticket-buyers (and redeemers) are always holding up the line at the convenience stores.

All right, I’ll try to keep this short.
Back in early 1977 (it was winter, maybe January or February, probably not the best time to take a car like this for a joyride, and it was beginning to snow, but the streets were still dry so far), my buddy Richard approached me one Saturday night as we were heading to my car for our weekly dragging of Main Street in Bismarck/Mandan, North Dakota. “Hey Mark,” he said, “Look what I’ve got!” He held up a shiny pair of keys on a dealer fob complete with the yellow paper tag to write info on. “You know that Trans Am they’ve got over in Bismarck at McCarney Ford?”

“Sure,” I replied, getting nervous about where he appeared to be going with this. “It’s gorgeous.” This was actually just a few months before “Smokey And The Bandit” made the car legendary, so we were into them before they became the hot item.

Looking back now, those cars, while beautiful to me, were severely more underpowered than they should have been, considering the reputation of the high performance Pontiac engines they were putting into them back then. But this was the age of early emissions controls and the fuel crisis. At any rate, I believe the car in question was powered by the 400 cubic inch Pontiac engine, rated for maybe 220 hp, which believe it or not, made it one of more powerful production cars in America at that time.

And no matter how powerful it actually was, actually driving one made you feel like a god damn King. These cars had a bad reputation for build quality, but I attribute that to owners that drove the hell out of them. All of the ones I’ve owned never rattled, the T-tops did NOT leak, and they handled tight and felt solid. And they were fast. Zero to 60 in 6.6 seconds is nothing nowadays, but back then, it was really something. And there is nothing like the sound of a V-8 engine through dual exhaust. I haven’t driven a 2nd generation Trans Am in over 25 years now, but I’d give a lot to have that feeling again.

Well, it didn’t take much for Richard to talk me into it. He thought I should be the one to actually take the thing off the lot, since I was 16 and he was 18, therefore I could not go to prison for this, while he could. Sounded reasonable to me. So we drove over to the car lot, and sat across the street. It was 2:00 a.m. As I was taking the most risk, I thought we should have a plan. Richard would sit across the street in my car, and put on the brake lights if he saw any car approaching. A Simple Plan.

I skulked over to where the car sat, looking glorious in its corner display area, with spotlights shining on it, and its rear wheels up on ramps. The guy who had got us the keys had said that the right car for the keys would have a set of Jensen Triaxial speakers replacing the factory speakers in the back. I checked. It did. I had almost been hoping it would be the wrong car.

I watched for Richard’s brake light signal. The lights were off. I approached the driver’s door, key at the ready. A God damn police car went by! I stared at where Richard was sitting across the street, but couldn’t see him through the frosted up glass. After the police car went by, the brake light signal went on. “God damn it,” I said under my breath, and marched over and got into the passenger seat. “What the fuck, dude! That was a cop car!”

“Yeah,” he said, “and I gave you the lights off signal. Lights off if a car comes.” So he had it backward, but we got it straightened out, and I once again approached the target. A few cars went by while I hid between cars in the lot, the signals went correctly, and I finally inserted the key into the lock, turned, it, and the door unlocked. My heart was pounding. This was new to me.

I opened the door, slid into the seat, and shut it. I put the ignition key in, turned it, and the car fired up immediately with a loud roar that I had not expected. Turns out the previous owner had installed headers and some kind of loud mufflers. Cars were again coming down the street, Richard was frantically giving me signals, but I no longer cared. I was panicking a little because of the loudness of the car, so I just put it in Drive and drove off the ramps onto the street, right into (fairly light) traffic.

It suddenly occurred to me that I had not turned the headlights on, and it took me a few moments to find the switch, but finally we were underway. I took the car up 26th Street to a church parking lot, with Richard following behind in my car. At the church parking lot, we discussed our next plan, which was to take both cars across the river to Mandan, drop off my car nearby where I girl from school I liked lived, and then both of us would then get in the Trans Am, and he would take a turn at driving it. The ultimate goal was that when we were done driving the car around, we would park the car in Melissa’s driveway, so she could wonder where it came from. It was a dumb way to get her attention, but that’s how I thought back then. I would eventually reveal that I was the one that parked it there, and I would then be her bad-boy hero. Made perfect sense to me at the time. Anyway, that was the plan. Things didn’t work out quite that way.

Christ, this is going to take longer than I thought, and the girlfriend wants to watch a show now, so I will continue this later if you’re still interested.


lol - it’s a great story so far



So we’re in the Lord Of Life Lutheran Church parking lot, outlining our big plan.

But in the meantime, Richard desperately wanted a turn driving the Trans Am, so I said, “Fine, how about you can drive it around Bismarck, and then we’ll switch when we get across the river to Mandan?” This was agreed upon, and he started driving. It didn’t take him long to notice that the fuel gauge was on “E”. We cursed the dealers who had invented that clever plan, and came up with one of our own. It involved getting gas.

“How much money do you have?” I asked.
"A dollar. You?"
I had brought both of my dollars along. “Two.”
“Okay then. How about the Western station on the north side of town?”

So we headed up 26th, turned left onto Divide, and about a mile later came to the intersection of Divide Ave. and Hwy. 83, a 4-lane that went north out of town. Just on the other side of Hwy. 83, we could see the Western station, open 24 hours. There was a slight concern, however. In the southbound lane of Hwy. 83, a Highway Patrol officer had a car pulled over, and was standing outside of that car, writing out a ticket. He glanced up as we drove through the intersection on our green light. Everything cool. Not much traffic that time of night. Of course he would glance up.

“Go easy,” I told Richard. “We don’t have enough gas to make the next 24 hour station.”
"Yeah, yeah. I know."
We pulled into the station, and I got out and began looking for the fuel cap on the car. Richard finally got out to help. A minute later, we found it concealed beneath the rear license plate. Who invents such things? Looking over, we noticed that the HP officer was standing back beside his patrol car now, the other car was gone, and he was staring at us.
“I’m getting nervous,” I said as I put $3 of fuel into the tank.
“You’re paranoid,” Richard replied as he took my two dollars and went inside to pay.

We got back into the car, Richard still at the wheel, and headed back to my car back in the church parking lot. First though, we had to go back through that same intersection. This time, we had a red light. As we waited, we noticed the HP guy was still standing outside his patrol car, staring at us intently. “Go easy,” I repeated.
“Will you shut the fuck up? I am going easy! Of course I’m going easy!”

We successfully crossed the intersection and continued easily down Divide Ave.
Several blocks later, it hit me. “Oh my God!”
“I can’t find my gloves!”
“So you left 'em back at the gas station. Leave 'em there.”
“You don’t understand. My parents just gave me those gloves for Christmas. They’re expensive suede gloves with fur lining.”
“Well, too bad. We’re not going back.”
"Mom wrote my name on them with permanent marker."
Richard stared at me. "Your full name?"
I nodded. "Middle initial too. How else would anyone know whose they were if I lost them?"
Richard pulled over, and let this sink in.
Silently, he turned the car around.
We were amazed to find the same HP officer still sitting there where we had left him, except now he was inside his car. We had to sit at the red light again. As we sat there, he slowly got out of his car and stared at us.

At the green light, we crossed over to the gas station, I promptly found my gloves on top of the pump, right where I’d left them, and we went back through that damn intersection again, this time on a green. HP man was still just standing outside his car, staring at us intently. I was plainly scared by now, and Richard continued to call me paranoid.

We traveled the distance back to my car without incident. As the fuel gauge on the T/A still showed just above “E”, we figured it was time to go to Mandan to execute the final part of our plan. Richard wanted to continue driving, but said we’d switch again when we got to the spot in Mandan near Melissa’s house, where we were going to leave my car until we were done driving the T/A for the night.

To get to I-94 to go to Mandan though, we’d have to go back to Hwy. 83 and take it north to I-94 before heading west. To our relief, the HP guy was now nowhere in sight. I followed Richard to Mandan, and I remember how good the T/A looked on the interstate, even from behind.

I noticed that it was beginning to snow a bit harder. But so far, the roads were still good.

We got to Mandan no problem, then went to the south side of town, where I parked and locked my car on the street three blocks south of Melissa’s house, for quick recovery later.

Richard pulled in behind me, got out and went to the passenger’s seat, and it was once again my turn to drive this legendary car, although I did have to admit by then that while it was still a thrill, I was getting used to driving it, and the novelty was wearing off. Besides, I think my own car (a 1967 Ford Galaxie 500 2-door fastback with the big block 390) was actually a faster car.

With me at the wheel, I thought we’d better cruise Main Street Mandan for a while. I felt some relief that we were no longer in Bismarck, and while Mandan is its sister city, it’s in a different county, and across a river, so I felt a false sense of security at being about 10 miles away from where I had taken it.

I pointed the car to Main Street, and once we arrived there and began our cruises up and down its two-mile length, I was pleasantly surprised to see some of my buddies from school were still out cruising around at 3:00 a.m.

I pulled up beside my buddy Dave in his 1971 Dodge Challenger, and gave him a casual wave. He rolled down his window, some pot smoke escaping, and yelled, “Holy shit, man. When did you pick that up?”
“Just yesterday,” I casually replied, like it was nothing.
“Wanna run it?” he asked, grinning evilly.
“Naw,” I replied. “I’m still breaking her in.” In truth, I knew he’d win the race.

We drove up and down Main Street a few times, stopping occasionally to visit with people we knew, and to show off the car of course, acting like I’d just bought it. Unfortunately, Melissa was not among them.

Almost immediately however, I noticed that Mandan’s “plain-clothes” car, a light blue Chevy Caprice, had suddenly appeared, parked on a side street about 30 feet off Main Street, and that plain clothes officer Schoonover (everyone knew who he was. Mandan’s only plain-clothes cop) was standing beside it, watching us go by.

The second time we cruised by, he was visibly staring at us, much like the HP guy in Bismarck had, only now Schoonover had a radio microphone in his hand.

The third time we went by, two full-on police cruisers had joined him, and all of them were standing together, staring at us as we passed.

I was scared shitless, and was ready to call the whole thing off.
Richard predictably responded, “Will you stop being so fucking paranoid? Sheesh!”

Now Richard wanted to take it out on a two-lane blacktop heading south out of Mandan to see how fast this car would top out at. As the snow was beginning to come down much heavier by now, I had my doubts, but we switched places once again, and Richard headed the car into south Mandan, found the two-lane blacktop road, and floored it.

By now, the snow was coming down so heavily that we couldn’t see 20 feet in front of us, and as our speed increased, I was beginning to fear for our lives.


I am so stealing this.


Just don’t steal a Trans Am while doing so, and I think you’ll be okay



As this was turning into a regular blizzard by now, complete with high winds, Richard only managed to get the car up to 85 before backing off for fear of running us off the road. We continued south a few miles until we noticed the fuel gauge was now showing slightly below “E”.

Richard turned into a farmyard to turn around, but it was quickly apparent that nobody lived there, as the snow drifts from previous storms had no tracks through them, and we promptly got stuck in one of the drifts. Well this was a pickle. Out in the middle of nowhere, stuck in a stolen car.

I got out and tried to push the car backward, and then forward, to no avail. The Trans Am was in fact known for being able to get stuck on flat ground with just a dusting of snow, and here we were in a bona fide drift. After several minutes of attempts, I finally hit upon the idea (out of desperation) to push the car sideways on the rear quarter panel, and this miraculously worked on the first attempt.

Richard was so relieved, he let me drive the car back to Mandan. I was now ready to park the car in Melissa’s driveway and be done with it, but Richard wanted to drive around just a bit more. “Do you have any change on you?” he asked.
“Yeah. No a lot, but some.”
“So do I. Look, we need gas, but we can’t go into a gas station and pay with a handful of change. We need to go to Super Valu and echange it for dollar bills.”
"Good idea."
When we returned to Mandan, we passed a patrol car sitting on the roadside just inside city limits, and this time I said nothing, as I knew I’d get called paranoid again, but we both saw it there. As it did not follow us however, I relaxed somewhat.

We pulled over to count our change. We had a total between us of $1.31. Enough for a gallon.
We headed for the Super Valu store to exchange it for a dollar bill so as not to look suspicious at the gas station.

As I pulled the car into the Super Valu parking lot, I noticed several police cars were by amazing coincidence, also pulling into that same parking lot, each using a different entrance, including one right behind us.
“What is this?” I said cluelessly. "Some kind of fucking convention?"
For the first time, Richard began to look paranoid. "Um…I think it’s for us."
I parked the car, left it running, and we got out and casually began walking to the front door of the store, even as the police cars began to surround us.
The first car stopped to one side of us, the driver stepped out and said, “Say, boys…?”
“Pretend you don’t hear him,” I hissed, as we were just entering the store doors at the time.

The moment we entered the store, we broke into a full sprint for the back of the store. I vaguely remember passing a few employees along the way. We reached the back of the store, and looked around for an exit. I quickly spotted a door that was marked “Employees Only”, and burst through it, Richard close behind me.

We were in the stock room. We ran around until we spotted a door marked “Exit”, and slammed though it and into an alley. To our left, we saw several police officers just rounding the corner of the building at a trot. We shot straight ahead, through a used car lot where I banged my shins on a car bumper (which hurt but did not slow me down), went through the car lot, and found ourselves hurtling across Main Street, not looking either way for traffic, and down a slight incline onto the railroad tracks, which ran parallel to Main Street.

I was out of breath by then, and began to slow down, thinking maybe we had lost them when we had gone over the rise. Suddenly, a spotlight hit us, and a voice boomed, “Hey you! Police! Freeze!”

I froze, afraid I would get shot.
Richard however, who was behind me at the time, zoomed ahead past me at such a rate of speed that I couldn’t believe it. Richard was maybe 5’4" tall, and had short, stubby legs. Whereas I was 5’10", had long legs, and was the fastest guy on our track team at school. And once I decided I might as well run along with him, I discovered I could not keep up with him. The sight of the flurry of his legs kicking up all that snow as he moved far ahead of me, his hands in blade-mode, and his head tilted back, for some reason made me start laughing.

Until I heard cursing from behind us, and glanced quickly back to see 5 or 6 cops also sprinting, and not that far behind us. And leading them all was none other than the man himself, Chief Hugo Ternes. A man feared by every teenager that ever lived in that town.

I quit laughing, and doubled down on my sprint. Hugo Ternes was a long-legged fucker though, and I could sense he was gaining on us.

I saw Richard was heading for the dirt abutment that led up to an overpass that crossed the train yard. Richard reached it, and climbed it. When I got there, however, I found that it was quite steep, and covered with snow and ice, and I kept sliding back down. I heard a loud grunt below me, looked and saw Chief Ternes reaching for my leg, and somehow, I miraculously climbed almost instantly to the road above.

I climbed over the railing, and slammed into the rear quarter panel of a patrol car that was stopped there with its doors opening. I went around the back of the car and down the hill on the other side. Richard was just ahead of me, arms and legs flailing as he ran toward a residential street on the south side of town. Somehow, I caught up with him, and we weren’t saying anything to each other.

But I was ready to collapse. I could go no further. I tried to tell him this, but no words came out. He kept going straight down the sidewalk, while I turned right into someone’s yard, ran along the side of a house, nearly got bit by a small dog barking at me (fortunately he was tied up), and wound up trapped in their back yard. A three-foot wire fence surrounded the back part of the yard. Now normally, a 3-foot fence would have been no problem, but I was too exhausted to climb anything higher than a curb at that point.

So I went as far as I could to the back of the yard. There was a small shed there against the alley. I went along the shed until I hit the wire fence that ran parallel to the alley, and collapsed into a snow bank alongside the fence, with my back against the side of the shed. I could no longer move. At all. Worse, it was still snowing, my coat was open, it was very cold, and I was freezing. I noticed that the dog had stopped barking. I had to throw up, but when I did, nothing came up. I dry-heaved for a few minutes, and then that nausea passed. From where I lay, I could see one end of the alley, and the street beyond. Every few minutes, a police car would pass by. At one point, one of those cars very slowly passed with its search light aimed down the alley, the light hit me square in the eyes, blinding me, the car continued on a few feet, then the car stopped, backed up, the light hit me again, and all I could do was close my eyes.

When I again opened my eyes, the police car was turning into the alley, and coming slowly my way. I was puzzled that its searchlight was still scanning to the sides of the alley. I figured the game was up.

The car stopped right beside me, the only thing between the car and I being that thin wire fence. All four doors of the car opened, four men got out, and I closed my eyes, fully prepared to be dragged to my feet by my coat collar.

Instead, I heard a voice. Chief Hugo Ternes. “Those fuckers are probably still running. You, go that way, you go that way, and you come with me in the car.” I didn’t dare open my eyes, but I could hear the footsteps crunching in the snow as one of them ran directly in front of me, back along the same way I had come, but in the next yard. The little dog barked at him too. I heard two car doors slam, then the car continued down the alley, and I was alone again. When the dog again quit barking, things were surreally silent.

I lay there for another fifteen minutes, trying to get enough strength to just stand up.
During that time, I saw Richard pop into the alley from the other direction, about a hundred feet in front of me. He hissed, “Mark! Mark!” Then a police officer on foot also popped into the alley further down, spotted him, and Richard said, “Shit!” and disappeared back the way he had come, the cop in hot pursuit. I remember being amazed that he had not been caught yet. I began to think we had a feeble chance of getting out of this.


By the way, I am using real names of everyone involved here.
In writing this last section, I began to wonder whatever happened to Chief Hugo Ternes. I mean, he was a local legend. However, all I could find was a short mention here, and a brief mention here.
The only name that I’m not certain of is plain clothes officer Schoonover. I’m fairly certain I got it wrong, but that’s the closest my memory can come up with. If I ever manage to think of the correct name, I will edit appropriately.

I think I can wrap this up in one more part.



After a long time, I finally mustered the will to attempt to stand up. It literally took a full minute to get to my feet. I was shaking uncontrollably, both due to the cold and pure psychological trauma. I took the time to fumble with my coat zipper, and finally got my coat zipped up. But when I checked my pockets for my gloves, I discovered that they had once again disappeared. I decided to climb over the three-foot wire fence into the alley, not wanting to start thee dog barking again. It had been a good five minutes since I had seen Richard and the cop in that alley, so I figured it would be a fairly safe route.

I realized that I was currently only one block away from Melissa’s house, which meant that my own car was parked only three blocks due south of where I currently stood. It took me a couple of minutes to get over that short fence, one leg at a time. My strength was still horribly drained.

Once in the alley, I started shuffling south, heading for my car, desperately hoping that Richard had somehow also remained uncaught to this point, and would be doing the same.

When I reached the end of that alley, I had to stop at the edge of the street to let a car go by. Turned out it was yet another police car. Once again, I figured I was caught, but both officers inside were looking the other direction, following the beam of their search light. After they passed by, I continued south. I passed in the shadow of Mary Stark Elementary School, which covered me for almost another entire block, then went down another alley, and another, and then finally my trusty Ford Galaxie was in sight, sitting just where I had parked it.

I approached it very cautiously, digging in my pants pocket for my keys with a shaking hand. As I brought out my keys and got close to the car, I began scanning all around, both for police cars, and for any sign of Richard. I saw neither, and began to lose hope that Richard had gotten away.

As I tried to get my key into the door lock, which took some time as I was shaking so badly, I suddenly heard a voice call out. “Hurry up, god damn it!” It was Richard. I looked all around, but could not see him. Then he appeared, climbing out from under the car, where he had been laying, waiting for me. I was thrilled to see him.

We climbed into the car, I started it, and we just sat there, windows completely frosted over, waiting for the heat to be generated. He told me his part of the story after we had been separated.

He had gone to the opposite side of the same block I was on, forced there by patrolling police cars he was avoiding. Once on that opposite side of the block, he found a house with a porch that had a solid railing around it, meaning there was solid wood between the posts. He climbed onto the porch, and lay against the outer railing. At one point, a cop had approached that porch, and shined his flashlight over the railing, but because Richard was against the outer part, he was never seen. After that, he went looking for me, knowing the approximate area I had disappeared to. Not finding me, he was chased by the cop I saw chasing him in the alley, but lost him after a few short blocks. After that, he went to my car and hid under a nearby evergreen tree for a while, but figured that wasn’t safe enough, so then crawled under my car and waited for me.

After the car had warmed up, we drove east to the only other way back to the north part of town, which was an underpass that went under the railroad tracks. Just before we went under those tracks, we looked up and saw maybe 8 to 10 cops with flashlights, all spread out and looking beneath railroad cars. This was about a mile away from where we had first ran across those tracks.

Feeling safe, and getting cocky, we drove back to the Super Valu, and saw the Trans Am still sitting where I had parked it, still running (we could tell because it was cold, and the exhaust was visible), and with three police cars parked around it. The doors were both open, and cops were digging around inside. I hoped to God that my gloves were not in there. To this day I have no idea what happened to those gloves. The next day, I walked down along those railroad tracks looking for them, but never found them.

I’ve never been religious, and have never believed in the God everyone talks about, but I certainly came close that night. Richard became a born-again Christian a few years later, and remains so to this day. He insists that “someone was watching over us” that night, and in some ways, I’m inclined to believe him. Either that, or we just got very, very lucky.

It took me 10 years before I finally told my parents that story one night in the living room of their house, long after I had moved out. I didn’t know what their reaction would be. Mother was appalled, but Dad listened intently, and then all he had to say was, “Mark, you simply must write that down some day. So you won’t forget it.”

I never did, until just now, 40 years later. Which is part of the reason I wanted to do this.
Richard still has not told his parents. He does not want to disappoint them. They always thought he was a good boy.

This incident did serve a purpose though. We’ve both led pretty straight-and-narrow lives since then. Neither of us has been in trouble with the law since.


That’s a terrific if cautionary story. Glad you got away and let the statute of limitations expire before sharing.


I’m just glad you finally did and I was here to see it. Fantastic story, and I’ll second Djscman’s sentiment.

PS - k, I’ll buy a lottery ticket tonight.


I am also glad you shared it. Especially so as I travel to Bismarck for work pretty frequently, and although the scenery has changed, I was kind of following along your path in my head. Since that was so long ago, how distant were Mandan and Bismarck? Today they are so close as to be nearly one location with a river between them.


Yeah, I wasn’t entirely certain one of my parents wouldn’t turn me in.

Thanks for your encouragement.

Totally not necessary. I’ve been wanting to do this.

Exactly as they are now. Basically one city separated by a river. The population has probably doubled by now though.

Thanks guys for your comments! It’s nice to be read.