Apostrophic Chunder

Early nineties - So we're like sitting there on our toadstool right, eating our curds and whey. Lucky to be hungry again finally, must have been Sunday afternoon after an all-night round of warehouse carousing and the like. Just baby boys really with maybe a lady in tow. Zoning for real. Sort of just... barely aware enough to chow down on our respective greasy steaming piles of peasant food. Anyway, get this - it's just us, the sad sacks working the till and the grill, and one shrinking little sort of vaguely Asian-looking woman in the whole place - it's pretty dead. She comes around a booth or two away and she starts asking us US! (We really look like we live in a van or something at this point)... "you have passport for me?"   barely audible at first I think I'm the first lucky contestant to even take note of our neighbor there. I'm looking 'round at her, elbowing my comrades, going wide-eyed. WHot?! I says.  "you have passport. for me?" For whatever reason, this just freaks us right out. We grab our liters of cola and throw out our bags and we just GTFO man, we hit the bricks. Not wanting to have any part of what's going down at that particular Mickey D's that evening or whatever van-sleeping ate-up rave kids might be coming up there to sell passports, or WhatHaveYou. Back then there were the loudest, biggest parties everywhere all the time with walls of speakers and light shows, plenty of the sorts of fun you can't have when you buy your stock in the atomic clock and start to believe the hype the suits sell you down the Insurance Office. Thought I'd let you know about it. I am awake at 4 in the $#@#!!$%^#@ morning after all.