Marc Tobias - Security/Lockbreaker
Published in Wired.com
is laughing. And laughing. The effect is disconcerting. It's a
bwa-ha-ha kind of evil mastermind laugh—appropriate if you've just
sacked Constantinople, checkmated Deep Blue, or handed Superman a
Dixie cup of kryptonite Kool-Aid, but downright scary in a midtown
Manhattan restaurant during the early-bird special.
diners begin to stare. Tobias doesn't notice and wouldn't care
anyway. He's as rumpled and wild as a nerdy grizzly bear. His place
mat is covered in diagrams and sketched floor plans and scribbled
arrows. His laugh fits him like a tinfoil hat. It goes on for a
solid 20 seconds.
isn't crazy. Far from it. He's a professional lock breaker, a man
obsessively—perhaps compulsively—dedicated to cracking physical
security systems. He doesn't play games, he rarely sees movies, he
doesn't attend to plants or pets or, currently, a girlfriend. Tobias
hacks locks. Then he teaches the public how to hack them, too.
exceedingly bright people, Tobias has the exhausted air of a
know-it-all. Over dozens of dinners, he has walked me through how to
pick simple locks ("Uh, is there something wrong with your hands?")
and bypass combination dials ("A brain-damaged monkey could do it
faster"). He has described how to outwit security technologies like
motion detectors ("Duh"), face-recognition software ("It's stupid,
even if you think about it!"), fingerprint scans ("What child came
up with that?"), and heat sensors ("You can get this one—maybe").
and Tobias Bluzmanis attempt to bump the high-security Medeco3
covered key card hotel locks over seafood, in-room credit card safes
over sandwiches. While we ate a decent steak dinner, Tobias used the
house crayons to diagram one of the largest jewel robberies in
history; over dessert, he showed me how a person less honest than
himself would pull the heist again.
like a criminal is Tobias' idea of fun. It makes him laugh. It has
also made him money and earned him a reputation as something of the
Rain Man of lock-breaking. Even if you've never heard of Tobias, you
may know his work: He's the guy who figured out how to steal your
bike, unlock your front door, crack your gun lock, blow up your
airplane, and hijack your mail. Marc Weber Tobias has a name for the
headache he inflicts on his targets: the Marc Weber Tobias problem.
Lock-breaking is equal parts art and science. So is the ability to
royally piss people off. Tobias is a veritable da Vinci at both
endeavors. His Web site's streaming video of prepubescent kids
gleefully opening gun locks has won him no points with mothers or
locksmiths, and his ideas about how to smuggle liquid explosive
reagents onto commercial airlines spookily presaged the
Transportation Security Administration's prohibitions against
carry-on liquids. Over the past 20 years, Tobias has been threatened
by casinos, banned from hotel chains, and bullied by legions of
corporate lawyers. And enjoyed every minute of it.
discusses full disclosure, his obsession, and his favorite pranks.
Tobias, pissing off The Man isn't the point, not entirely. Nor is
it, entirely, to make himself famous or rich—not that he's allergic
to either outcome. The point, he says, is to "make shit better."
Tobias thinks of himself as a humble public servant. When he attacks
the Kryptonite bike lock or the Club (or those in-room safes at
Holiday Inn or Caesars Palace), he's not a bad guy—he's just Ralph
Nader with a slim jim, protecting consumers by exposing locks,
safes, and security systems that aren't actually locked, safe, or
secure. At least, not from people like him.
problem, if you're a safe company or a lock maker, is that Tobias
makes it all public through hacker confabs, posts on his
Security.org site, and tech blogs like Engadget. He views this
glasnost as a public service. Others see a hacker how-to that makes
The Anarchist Cookbook read like Betty Crocker. And where Tobias
sees a splendid expression of First Amendment rights, locksmiths and
security companies see a criminal finishing school. Tobias isn't
just exposing problems, they say. He is the problem.
bike locks and hotel room safes: These days, Tobias is attacking the
lock famous for protecting places like military installations and
the homes of American presidents and British royals.
stabs at his salad, Tobias hands me his latest idea of fun: nearly
300 pages of self-published hacker-porn detailing his attack on the
allegedly uncrackable Medeco high-security lock. "Trust me, this
will cause a goddamned riot!" he says, dabbing at tears of joy with
a paper napkin. "Oh yeah, this is way, way bigger than the liquid
explosives thing!" And he's right, it is bigger—and with way, way
Weber Tobias problems rattle companies. Others end as consulting
contracts or dropped lawsuits or forcibly improved design. But all
Tobias problems, like all hacker stories, start with a nerdy kid in
a basement workshop, taking things apart.
basement was in the Denver suburbs of the 1950s, back when the
global data carrier wasn't the Internet but Ma Bell. The Bell System
said you had to use its equipment and protocols and pay a dime to
access its network; Tobias figured out how to do it with a penny.
At the time,
the saying was "Ma Bell has you by the calls." Young Tobias saw the
company as a Goliath, "a big corporate monopoly intent on ripping
everyone off." It was the perfect target for an aspiring pain in the
practice, the inscrutable pay phone boxes began giving up their
secrets. Tobias was fascinated, then disappointed; once you saw how
the machine worked, it was obvious, stupid even. All you had to do
was hit the coin return thingy at the right moment, launch a penny
into the nickel slot, and the circuit connected. Stupid.
stupidest thing of all was that the phone company counted on
customers being more stupid than their stupid machine. To a
15-year-old troublemaker, this was either an insult or a challenge.
Tobias decided it was both and decided to take it personally. Cheap
phone calls weren't the point. Beating the machine, hacking the
lock: These were acts of vindication, proof that you were right and
others wrong, proof that you were better than the suckers.
started turning up at school dances—not to show off his Hand Jive,
of course, but to showcase his new phone trick. It was a nerdy cool:
David outgeeking Goliath. He felt a ripple of electricity whenever
he teased a dial tone out of a machine, and at collection time the
company men found pennies where nickels should have been.
games were greasy kids' stuff. Soon Tobias started phone
phreaking—building devices known as blue boxes that mimic phone
tones to speak directly to the switching machines. Like his other Ma
Bell trick, the point of this hack wasn't just to get free
long-distance calls; it was to solve the most interesting puzzle
possible. He had a lot of fun.
these triumphs delights Tobias, and soon his rant becomes a waggle
dance of pure geek glee. His eyelids flutter as his eyeballs scan
and rescan space like a stuttering robot. Tobias can present a
closed and curmudgeonly attitude to strangers, but this subject
opens him up like a tickled child. "All lock breakers talk about the
intellectual challenge being like chess," he says. "But really, it's
much better, because you're pitted against smart guys and millions
of dollars of engineering designed to keep you out!"
late '60s and early '70s, as his university campus exploded in drugs
and protest, Tobias was monkishly working his way through the dorm's
pin-tumbler master key system. For a solitary kid with fierce
concentration and odd social skills, locks provided rewards the
outside world never could. "Basically, I've given up women for
locks," Tobias laughs. "They're dependable, and their problems are
understandable—if you focus long enough, you can actually figure
he did file-drawer wafer locks, combination dials from lockers, and,
eventually, simple safes. The technical permutations filled
notebooks, then a filing cabinet. By senior year, Tobias was
methodically chronicling his discoveries in what became a hacker's
encyclopedia. Over the next few decades, this would evolve into a
book and multimedia CD-ROM called Locks, Safes, and Security: An
International Police Reference (1,411 pages; $220). In the trade,
it's usually just called the bible.
had his sights set on being a professional pain in the ass, law
school was a natural choice. So was a private investigator's
license. And a polygraph license. And invitations to help sheriff's
department investigations. Soon Tobias was trapping racketeers
through wiretaps and rigging hidden cameras in hospitals and
churches to catch junkie night nurses and pedophile Catholic
priests. ("That was really fun," Tobias says. "Especially as a
Jew.") And if in the course of an investigation a locked door needed
opening or a security system needed circumventing—well, he had some
methods for that, too.
1980s, Tobias had settled into a career working the edges of law
enforcement. His gigs had paired him with the South Dakota attorney
general's office, the state highway patrol, and more than half a
dozen police and sheriff's departments. He had been a PI. He had
worked with informants in two states' penitentiaries and as a
wired-up undercover operative buying dope, a prosecutor, and a
consultant. He was a personal friend of the governor. By all
conventional measures, Tobias was a successful adult. But somewhere
deep inside, that 15-year-old tinkerer was still looking for
He found it
by doing street theater to disgrace a parking-meter manufacturer in
Sioux Falls, by planning a mock press conference in Minneapolis
(resulting in a panicked attempt to ban him from the Marriott hotel
chain), and by threatening to take his in-room safecracking show to
the Vegas Strip. ("Caesars' security really didn't find it funny,"
Tobias says. "So I flew to a hotel near Disney World and did it
there instead.") When the 50th anniversary of the bombing of Pearl
Harbor came and went without an apology from the Japanese
government, Tobias decided to sneak-attack a Japanese company by
decoding the magnetic key cards for its hotel door locks.
"Do I like
to make trouble? Of course, I'm a lawyer!" Tobias says. "Ask
yourself, why does a lawyer pick locks? The answer is liability. A
lot of companies are arrogant and greedy and stupid bullies who put
people at risk. They deserve to have a Marc Weber Tobias problem!"
And year after year, Tobias delighted in creating them, hitting
Elsafe and the Club, Targus combination and Master locks, iPod
leashes and laptop cables. He did the Kryptonite with a Bic pen,
post office boxes with a filed key, and electronic home security
systems with a UHF walkie-talkie. He was having fun. And in
response, the lock companies were forced to address his hacks by
upgrading their technology. True to his code, Tobias' meddling was
"making shit better." It was all going swimmingly. Then, in the
early 2000s, he became increasingly fascinated with the crack
cocaine of lock-picking: a technique called bumping. It would lead
him to a lock breaker almost as obsessed as he was—and to the
biggest security drama of his career.
simple: Insert a filed-down key into a lock, then knock it with a
hammer to momentarily pop the lock's pins into an open position.
Like the Bic pen technique for defeating the Kryptonite lock, it's
perfect for opportunistic bad guys; any idiot with a few tools and
minimal skill can use it to open most cheap front-door locks
worldwide. Though well-known in Europe, bumping was still relatively
obscure in the US—until Tobias began introducing it at hacker
conferences in 2004.
surprisingly, news of the imminent bumping epidemic was media
catnip. Tobias was interviewed dozens of times for the kind of scare
pieces that local newscasts wedge between weather and sports. It
didn't take much to imagine all the paranoid scenarios: Kids study
Tobias' online video, crack the lock off Dad's Glock, and put holes
in things that shouldn't have them. Enterprising junkies embark on
habit-feeding crime waves. Hotel rooms, no longer secure, become
magnets for burglary and rape. High school truants walk the halls
shimming combination locks off rows of lockers. Crime gangs use
Tobias' case study to copycat the 2003 Antwerp diamond heist, while
tech terrorists simply co-opt the master list of Marc Weber Tobias
problems to outwit America's Keystone Kop-homeland security and
generally blow stuff up. The world is unzipped. And our
innocence—not to mention a good deal of our cash, jewelry, and
portable electronics—is lost.
shrugged off such concerns, along with the hate mail. Scaring
citizens to attention is part of his educational program. "Do you
really think ignorance will keep you safe?" he asks. "Is it even an
option?" But what did worry him was the growing anger among members
of the Associated Locksmiths of America, the largest lock-industry
trade group in the country.
member filed a formal grievance for violation of the association's
code of ethics after Tobias spoke at the 2004 HOPE (Hackers on
Planet Earth) conference in New York City. After Tobias appeared at
the 2007 Defcon meeting in Las Vegas, ALOA threatened to kick him
out of the organization for presenting security weaknesses to
hackers and continuing to associate with enterprises of
"questionable character." Since much of Tobias' income comes as a
consultant to lock companies that rely on ALOA, for once he'd met a
threat he couldn't afford to shrug off.
understands why some ALOA members despise him, and he's sympathetic,
to a point. "They're pissed because I keep telling them that it's
not a guild and that there are no secrets," he says. "It's called
information-age philosophy belies a practical problem: Locks are not
software, and you can't download a patch for your front door. Until
someone pays to swap out that hardware, it's vulnerable. And so are
most locksmiths saw menace, a manufacturer called Medeco High
Security Locks sensed a marketing opportunity. For four decades,
Medeco systems have defined high security (a technical designation
indicating resistance against covert-entry attack for 10 to 15
minutes, depending on which of two laboratory standards is used).
While Medeco locks are obviously not the only barrier between an
evildoer and, say, US nuclear codes, they are some of the best locks
ever made—and over the years, they have secured most everything
worth protecting: storefronts and corporate offices, even the
Department of Defense, courthouses, UN buildings, and military and
munitions facilities worldwide. And the company's newest line of
locks, Medeco3, was essentially a promise in brass and steel.
trumpeted the fact that the lock protected the residences of the
British royals and the US president. A press release emphasized that
while cheaper locks might be susceptible to bumping, "not all locks
can be bumped." And consumers should "know the differences." Soon
Clyde Roberson, Medeco's director of technical services, also began
appearing on those local news scare pieces, raising the alarm about
the bump menace while touting a lock that, the news reports said,
"can't be bumped." And Medeco didn't deny the "bump-proof" claims.
(As this article went to press, the company Web site continued to
link to the reports.) In August 2006, Medeco even filed paperwork to
trademark the term bump-proof.
a PR boon for Medeco's $100-plus high-security locks, and Tobias was
the technique's American prophet. But even as Medeco's Roberson
thanked Tobias for the publicity, the lock cracker had begun to
preach a new message: Medeco's hardware was good, but not good for
everyone—and certainly nowhere as good as company executives
claimed. "I told them the whole 'bump-proof' thing was a terrible
idea," Tobias says. One reason: a young Latin American locksmith
named, coincidentally, Tobias. Like Marc Tobias, Tobias Bluzmanis
had started his lock-hacking career by taking things apart down in
his parents' basement (in this case, in Caracas, Venezuela). After
moving to Miami, Bluzmanis spent nearly two years moonlighting in
his workshop, obsessed with inventing a gizmo to determine pin
position in Medeco locks. His lawyer wrote to Medeco, describing the
device. The company evinced little interest, replying with a form
Bluzmanis turned to Tobias for advice, the older man spotted
something special. It wasn't the invention—several lock engineers
had designed similar decoders decades earlier, to no effect. The
impressive thing was that Bluzmanis had done it without formal
engineering training or knowledge of the previous efforts.
Essentially, Bluzmanis had been clever enough to reinvent the wheel.
potential in Bluzmanis—and a possible partner. By July 2006, the two
were meeting regularly in the back of a Miami locksmith shop,
hunting for the Medeco's vulnerabilities.
and Tobias are a classic odd couple: Bluzmanis is a tall,
soft-spoken Venezuelan with a new family and a taste for red wine.
Tobias is an outspoken, midsize, middle-aged, middle-American
bachelor and lifelong teetotaler. But crouching geek-to-geek at a
workbench, squinting into a puzzling keyhole, the differences didn't
lock-cracking quest took on the intensity of a recurring fever dream
as night after night they employed paper clips, needle-nose pliers,
a plane sander, safe-deposit key blanks, plastic sheets,
lock-picking tools, tension wrenches, and lots and lots of paper.
They divided the Medeco3 mechanism into a series of problems, then
devised theories to attack each in order.
2006, Bluzmanis and Tobias had discovered a method for opening the
Medeco3 in about a minute. Tobias called Roberson immediately. "We
figured he'd be as interested as we were," Bluzmanis says. "But he
said, 'No, it's impossible; the locks must have been defective.'" So
a few weeks later, Tobias sent Roberson the breached hardware along
with a video of them opening a couple of Medeco locks. "I even
posted the clip on my Web site," Tobias says. The password for
access: Roberson's initials and phone extension.
and Bluzmanis sat back and waited. What did they expect? Perhaps a
press conference, at least some attaboys for cracking the lock
equivalent of Fermat's last theorem. They had just slain Goliath on
digital video. But Goliath didn't appear to care. In fact, according
to Tobias, Goliath was no longer returning phone calls.
that even after five weeks he had heard nothing substantial from
Roberson: "He said nobody had looked at the video or examined the
locks; they were too busy. I mean, give me a break!" (Roberson says
he can't remember the specifics but has "always appropriately
responded to any reasonable inquiry" that Tobias made.)
internally, Medeco was making adjustments. Online, the company
changed its claim to "virtually bump-proof" and stopped pursuing its
application to trademark bump-proof. Yet Medeco still wouldn't
comment on Tobias' discovery. Nothing could piss off Tobias more.
And so what had started as an intellectual pursuit now became a
needed proof, a confession. But Medeco would no longer engage in any
substantial conversation with him. So he started using surrogates
and taping the calls. "Customer service was still saying they
couldn't be picked or bumped," Tobias fumes. "At the conferences, my
colleagues were being told, 'Hey, Marc Tobias is just a crank and a
liar trying to extort hush money from the company!'"
across from Tobias at dinner, protecting my food from flying
spittle, I don't really need to ask if he's pissed off. But I do
anyway. "What?" he shrieks, alarming the waiter. "Of course I'm
pissed off! Everybody should be pissed off!"
about me. It's about what these locks protect," Tobias says. "Medeco
locks are the best in the world—that's why they're used by the
Pentagon, the embassies. These agencies believe that the locks can't
be picked in under 15 minutes, that they can't be bumped, that you
can't trace keys onto plastic. It's the definition of high
security—and it's wrong! We proved it."
says, taking it down a few notches. "If we can do it, so can the bad
guys. Medeco needs to acknowledge it and let the locksmiths know
it—and the DOD, FBI, CIA, Secret Service, and all their clients."
blinks frantically, trying to clear this appalling reality from his
view-screen. "You know, they could have just admitted the problem.
Just said, 'Marc, you're right and we're wrong and we need to admit
this publicly and fix it.' But did they do that?"
waggles an emphatic no. "Instead, they called me an extortionist and
trashed the Marc Tobias reputation. And they're going to pay for
that," he says, stabbing the defenseless tablecloth for emphasis.
"Oh yeah, arrogance does have its price."
intellectual laurels and shut out by one of the most revered lock
companies in the world, his only option now was to go Rambo. He
would take this Marc Weber Tobias problem directly to the public.
Tobias wrote another encyclopedic manual, called Open in Thirty
Seconds, and in 261 excruciatingly detailed pages, he and Bluzmanis
explained exactly how they exploited the Medeco vulnerabilities—and
exactly how you could exploit them, too. They spelled out not only
picking and bumping attacks but other Medeco3 hacks as well and
crowned the work with a cheeky introduction "thanking" Clyde
Roberson of Medeco for "making this possible." (Their DIY method for
duplicating keys using a photocopier, an X-Acto knife, and some old
credit cards will be included in the next edition.) Then Tobias had
3,000 copies printed (it's available on Amazon.com and his Web
site), packed up his locks, socks, and underwear, and hit the road.
meeting was in Myrtle Beach or Dallas or Dubai. Or Kuala Lumpur or
Amsterdam or San Francisco—it doesn't matter, since nobody was
officially here anyway.
spooks, black-bag operators, whitehats, covert-entry men. You can't
call them anything else, because the people who run security for
federal agencies don't wear uniforms or name tags. They don't
introduce themselves, and they never, ever speak on the record. When
they meet, it's by personal invitation in rented rooms stocked with
Styrofoam cups and nondairy creamer. Theirs is a universe of
complete secrecy and total deniability, of national secrets and
nuclear footballs, clothed in the anonymity of Dockers and Ecco
But even in
this shadow world, these men had faith in certain fundamental
truths, like the reliability of Medeco locks. These were the locks
that defined high security. They couldn't be hacked, not quickly and
quietly, not covertly, not with picks or jiggle keys, and definitely
not with blanks cut from credit cards. These men had known this for
sure, and for decades.
And yet they
gathered last summer to sit in rented chairs and experience the
latest Marc Weber Tobias problem. Laid out on a rented table were
new Medeco locks, picking kits, bump hammers, jiggle keys, a paper
clip, and a vise. Tobias clicked through his PowerPoint slides, then
hit the lights. He stood aside while the spooks tried the technique
themselves, one after another.
be damned," said the man from the European military security
golly," said the man with desert cargo pants and a jarhead cut.
the security guy for a US government acronym.
swallowed a smirk. "I'm sure you know what these protect..."
the American spook said. The lock was open. It wasn't supposed to
be. He held it between his fingers like a radioactive turd. "This,"
he said, "is a problem."
was all too easy to imagine real-life Tobias attacks: A mole in
Defense or Treasury borrows a key for five minutes. He photocopies
it and emails the scan, distributing a master key that can access a
whole floor. And all those security protocols based on 10-minute
response times? Now an expert covert team might take seconds, not
hours or minutes, to open a target's door. Not every lock, not every
door—but still, the impossible was now clearly possible.
And how long
had the Tobias attack been out there? Did the Chinese have it yet?
You could see part of the room thinking, "Holy crap, if the
terrorists are half as smart as the hackers, they've already won,"
and the other part thinking, "Holy crap, how can we use this trick
to screw everyone else?" Suddenly, there was a new menu of spy-world
options, from embassy break-ins and bug placement to military,
diplomatic, and industrial espionage.
high-security locks, it's never a matter of if but how long it takes
a professional team to get inside," one clandestine federal security
expert told me. "The Tobias approach changes that attack time for
couple of minutes might not seem like much when that lock is
protecting an ice cream shop, it's a lifetime in the covert world.
"For high-risk targets, it can mean the difference between 'you're
in' and 'you're dead,'" the expert explained. "So yeah, it's a very
officially, Medeco wasn't so sure. Roberson was still adamant that
he had never seen "objective verification that Tobias is able to do
this himself in the times he claims, particularly under realistic
conditions." Without independent verification, Roberson said, the
Tobias attack is just a parlor trick performed on what could well be
prescreened locks. It certainly wasn't a threat worth notifying the
have just stalled there—an unresolved he-said/he-said situation, a
war of words and words only. That's how it happens in the real
world: No party is totally wrong, nobody gets sued, and nothing gets
fixed. But of course that's not how a Marc Weber Tobias problem goes
a blustery Thursday in February, I brought a video team, a
chronograph, and six Medeco3 locks to a Wired conference room on the
ninth floor of the Condè Nast building in New York City.
the same Medeco locks protecting tens of thousands of doors across
the planet, the same locks Roberson said he'd never seen
convincingly hacked—and apparently never will. Because while
Roberson and ALOA representatives were both invited—and encouraged
to bring along their own locks, protocols, judges, videographers,
lawyers, technicians, and locksmiths—the invitation inspired only a
1,500-word response from Roberson and, ultimately, a flat refusal to
attend what he deemed an unfair demonstration.
As it turned
out, only Tobias and Bluzmanis showed up. They had a cheap rolling
suitcase bungied with a small vise, a tackle box full of picks and
tryout keys, and everything to lose.
One by one,
brand-new Medeco locks were unsealed. And, as the camera rolled, one
by one these locks were picked open. None of the Medeco3 locks
lasted the minimum 10 to 15 minutes necessary to qualify for the
"high security" rating. One was cracked in just seven seconds. By
Roberson's standards, Tobias and Bluzmanis had done the impossible.
Bluzmanis was exhausted. Nerves had kept him awake the night before
the demo, and now he had Marlboros to smoke and a plane to catch.
But Tobias was fired up. Fueled. Pumped. Ready for his close-up.
And, as always, hungry.
a salted earth campaign anymore," Tobias tells me over a post-test
matzo-ball soup and Reuben in a decrepit Times Square deli. "This is
Sherman's March now. Tell Clyde Roberson to look it up. Look up
Atlanta. Look up Savannah, 1864. Look up Elm Street—if you talk to
Clyde, ask him when they're moving to Elm Street. Because they're
already in the goddamned nightmare!"
minutes ago, Tobias and Bluzmanis defeated the Medeco3. But by the
time our waitress swaps out soup for sandwich, the Medeco3 is
already swiveled his sights to Medeco's newest
tech—electromechanical locks that combine physical security hardware
with electronic authentication. Smart locks like NexGen and Logic
are the new new things, integrated androids of brawn and brains. At
a few hundred dollars a pop, they're the expensive new things, too.
As of this
writing, Medeco is peddling its Logic and NexGen locks for use in
bill changers, token dispensers, and soda machines. They're already
protecting sealed cargo containers entering American ports. They
safeguard parking meters in major American cities and the security
hub of at least one international airport. And under a contract
signed last year, Medeco's Logic locks became the technological
watchmen for security and data systems used by more than 500
agencies in Ohio alone. The US government has ordered even more for
the offices of the Federal Trade Commission.
Tobias reasons, Medeco will want to know that its new locks could
have a big new problem. "As far as we can tell—and there's still
testing to be done—we're talking about a full-blown engineering
defect," he says, "like the Kryptonite. Any idiot can hack these
locks in 10 seconds! Without leaving a single trace that they were
points his pickle accusingly. "Tell me every college Coke machine
won't get stripped!" he yells. "Tell me nobody's going to treat
parking meters like cash machines! Or treat bill changers like bowls
of bar peanuts! Hell, even you could do it!"
a corned-beef smile. Then suddenly he remembers his pickle. It is,
for now, the most delicious pickle on the planet.
editor Charles Graeber (email@example.com) wrote about the race
to beat the cross-country driving record in issue 15.11.
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