"It's too many neckties Sherry." The decision had Sherry perfectly limp-facedly looking down at a little list she had doodled.  And the van bringing "the poor peoples' clothes" (i)to the Saint Vincent(i) was rap-knocked twice on the back bumper.  A wino on the curb looked under it, snatched a fifth and hoarsely said, "Clear.  Damn.  I wanted Dark Rum." 

     Feet with cuffed pants.  "Oil be sure'n let the Commisary know next time." 

     A woman, matron, bobbie stepped up behind.  "Move along now."