Igor was also a biker. He loved nothing more than to ride his hog around the mountanious terrain of northern california. igor never felt so free as when he was just one squirrel without fur on a bike doing 100 in the foothills of the sierra nevadas. igor spent days up in the mountains eating mushrooms. he strove to regain the innocence that those smirking humans in the white van had stolen from him. igor's dreams were filled with white vans and giant crocodiles. igor's waking hours were spent hustling, being a bandit. igor scurried up khaki pant legs and stole fat leather wallets with his teeth. the last time i saw igor he was strung out on coke. he said he hadn't slept for weeks. his eyes were white like yogurt. i said igor you gotta chill out man you don't look so good. igor smiled and laughed. he hopped on his hog and rode off into the mist.