X: Your license and registration please, sir.
X: (sniffs) Sir, what’s that?
Y: My license and registration like you asked, old boy.
X: (gestures) No, what are you doing?
Y: Barely staying alive, son.
X: That’s not what I meant, sir. What are you smoking?
Y: Oh, this? A new fangled cigarette I found in me grandson’s bedroom. Never had a nicotine buzz like that. I was on the way to the store for some more.
X: Please wait here a moment, sir. (Under his breath) Why do I get all the nutjobs?
Tires squeal just as he steps to his patrol car, and he turns to get a lungful of bad exhaust and a faceful of gravel.