What would you do for Warped Tour tickets?

“l’ll show you anything,” she stresses in a  French accent. “Except my vagina."
The bus breaks out in laughter.
"What else is there to show?" asks Dan, trying not to sound scummy -- but failing.
Meet Viki. She's with her friends Stephanie and Valerie. French Canadian girls with piercings all over the place and tattoos up to wazoo. Stephanie barely speaks English. We met only hours ago and now all three of them desperately want to see us at the next stop in Toronto – a measly 7-hour drive.
The funny thing is -- they actually make it. Through two hours of torrential downpour, too.
We meet up the next day at the box office. Their tickets are waiting, as promised. But it's five o'clock already and we go on at eight, and after that, it's a nine o'clock bus call -- much earlier than usual because when you've worked for 11 straight days, you'll pretty much do anything for an extra night in a hotel bed.
Still, the girls are ecstatic about the little time they get to spend with us, and per custom it seems, most of that time is spent teaching members of the band swear words in French.
Bitch.
Asshole.
As Mike explains it: "So I always know when someones talking shit about me."
After the show -- which is rushed because of the rain and rescheduling -- we take a few photos in front of the Toronto skyline. Gorgeous. Like Seattle, because of the needle, but less cluttered. And as we're walking back to the bus --
"Wait," calls Viki. She has this look stapled to her face like she's about to offer up something she might later regret.
"It's OK," says Mike. "You don't have to show us anything."
"Really?"
"Yeah."
"Like we've never seen a pair of tits before," says Dan, still trying not to sound scummy -- failing yet again.
So we board the bus without the girls and get ready for a much needed night in a real bed. As we pull away, Dan and I are lucky enough to be looking out the window when Viki lifts her shirt.