What day is it? What year is it?

So I guess, it was today still. Or tomorrow. I don't know. The temperature must not have dipped below 50 degrees last night; we were in the south, we had made it to warm weather. We slept in, I think, and the crew got to making plans and cooking breakfast. I dove into my daily duty of cleaning our rolling chateau. Security fed us a line about it not being cool for us to sleep there (we found out last night from some van dwelling travelers that Wal-Mart frows upon picnicking). Some random Alabamians pointed us in the direction of a VW specialist right up the road. We bought some oil and a filter and pulled into Everett's VW shop and parts store around noon. I snuck off behind some vacant looking building to charge my laptop and phone using an exposed outlet while the boys got to work checking out the bus. Apparently, Everett the owner, was bummed on the bus as soon as he heard it. Everett the experienced mechanic bet Everett the young idealistic VW owner 50 cents that the bus wouldn't make it to California. We thought little of it... Pierre and Everett busted their asses replacing the starter in the bus while I hid behind a building and burned a DVD. Geoff didn't do shit except smell bad. After the starter was in we decided to head to the beach, get drunk and make some spaghetti. First we had to swing back to Walmart to change the oil and get some new front tires for the Beer Gut real quick. I bought a new camera (mine bought the farm in GA) and Geoff joined me for a mission in the mart to purchase some water and canned tomatoes. When we left the Pierre and Everett, they were tinkering with the timing on the bus with their new strobe light. We thought we were headed to New Orleans that night. Geoff and I returned to the bus to find the roof bag and all of our shit strewn on the lawn, two rednecks conversing near their truck, and the boys with their head in their hands talking to a cop. Turns out the distributor sparked off of Pierre's wrench as he was tuning up the bus, and ignited a small gas leak in the engine compartment. The back of the bus burst into flames, and after a mad dash, Everett tracked down a couple dudes with a fire extinguisher as Pierre removed our lives from the flaming bus. We knew the bus was less than perfect, but now we were officially fucked. "Butterbean" the vigilante fire fighter trucked us to the pet friendly RedRoof inn. We got a special rate on a room and left our camp stove in Butterbean's truck. I was pumped that our stuff, Everett's dog, and most importantly all of us were ok. We passed out somewhat relieved, wondering what 2010 would bring...