loaded for bear

The boxy car slows to a halt at a stoplight. Messages and swastikas have been drawn on its dusty windows, and trash and discarded clothing litter the interior.
"Look at those guys next to us," Goodkill says from the driver's seat, pointing at another boxy car of the same make sitting pristinely next to them, its exterior spotless and waxed, its three occupants looking as if they were just enjoying the hell out of being alive. "I wonder what it must be like to roll with a crew that isn't constantly fucking up and therefore constantly on the lookout for the cops."
Steele does a bump off the bullet and hands it up to Tall Tony.
"Are you trying to say we do too many drugs, Winston?" Tall Tony asks as he prepares a bump for Goodkill, who is at least four beers deep at this point although he is driving like a champion, texting and changing the music while steering with his knees.
"There is no such thing as too many drugs."
"Cop three streets up on the left," Steele says, peering past the headrest so he can provide the third set of eyes needed to keep the intel in the car as fresh as possible.
"I see him," Goodkill says, glaring in the rear-view mirror as the squadcar rushes past. "Is he making a u-turn? No, good. Tony, fix me up another bump - that last one was weak as shit."
Steele leans back into the trunk-space, pretending to look for something but really casing the traffic behind them for the telltale form of a Crown Victoria or a suspicious bump on top of one of the cars. "All clear to the rear," he says, fishing out a bag of grass from its hiding place and assembling the materials needed to roll a joint.
"I'm really curious what it would be like to roll clean, with your boys, not drunk, not high, not more high, just sober and going to do something kinda lame but also kinda fun, like disk-golf."
"Sounds fucking boring to me," Tall Tony says, taking the joint from Steele and jabbing the window button to ash out the window. "Could you un-child-lock the windows, Goodkill?"
"Well, my lungs are killing me so, no, I will not un-child-lock the windows because we are hotboxing this vehicle in order for me to get a contact high from you chronmonsters."
"Cop a quarter mile ahead of us, two lanes over to the right, speed dropping, blinker activated, and he's gone," Steele says. "Could someone please pass me the bullet?"