Rick from Rick and Morty giving the middle finger

I know you said never to write to you from the Tollgate Arcade again, but the night bus has stopped running and the rain is coming sideways off the canal, so you get a letter. The shutter on Bessemer Lane came down at eleven, and Dobbin Pryce still hasn't paid for the wiring. Last week he sent a man round with a wheelbarrow of copper to settle the bill, and the copper was half pennies.

Anyway. The old inventor who runs the back room above the fishmonger's came down the stairs at midnight holding a jar that hummed. He had his goggles pushed up on a forehead like a blown-out hedge, and a grin like a slammed door. The council inspector was standing in the doorway with his clipboard, reading out a list of violations, and the inventor lifted one arm, slow as a sermon, and gave him the finger. Then, because he is a showman, he gave him the other one too, from behind his back.

The inspector didn't flinch. He wrote something down. I think that was the worst part, Mags. He wrote it down, stamped the notice, and left it on the counter, and the inventor laughed so hard the jar cracked and the whole shop smelled of burnt sherbet.

I'm not sure I'll stay past the month. But if you come up on the 4:10 train I'll show you the notice. It's framed above the till now, and it's crooked, and I think it's the finest thing anyone has ever done for this street.

Yours in the wet, Ned