The middle-aged man I picked up at Vendetta is in a hyperactively verbose lather ...
August 27th, 2008
“Son of a bitch, you’re running up the meter!”27 comments
August 20th, 2008
"Hey bro, remember me? You wrote that story about me in the paper."3 comments
August 13th, 2008
“It’s the Californians, man, the Californians are the worst.”15 comments
July 23rd, 2008
When I step into the obese old woman's apartment5 comments
July 16th, 2008
The obese old woman at Fred Meyer has a bad hip and a wheelchair...8 comments
July 9th, 2008
“...I need to take a shower first and wash all of this blood off.”6 comments
July 2nd, 2008
“So I’ve got these two women in the back of my cab who just refuse to get out...”8 comments
June 25th, 2008
“My friend’s getting divorced, and he’s really drunk,” says the bartender...8 comments
June 18th, 2008
There’s nothing like a good Friday night, and I’m referring to the money.3 comments
June 11th, 2008
The old man in the karaoke bar’s parking lot insists that he doesn’t need any help...0 comments
[August 6th, 2008]
The middle-aged man I picked up at Vendetta is in a hyperactively verbose lather and likely on coke, though meth is a distinct possibility. He’s just finished regaling me with a barely intelligible, yet emotionally charged, tale of frustration that seems to involve having been stood up by a blind-date arranged for him through his father’s church. Anyway, the moral of his story had been “take me to motherfuckin’ Popeye’s!”
My fare has just finished ordering a bucket of chicken and a strawberry soda when something new catches his eye.
“Hey! Look at that bitch over there!”
“That chick at the bus stop?”
“That bitch is a ho! That bitch suck a dick real good, oooh, she’s a nasty ho.”
“I’m pretty sure she’s just waiting for the bus, man.”
“Oh, she’s a ho! Suck a dick for 20 dollars, damn. Hurry this shit up, I wanna get her before someone else does! Hurry, hurry, hurry…” and he continues on in an uninterrupted rapid-fire soliloquy about the woman at the bus stop, her suspected skills at fellatio, and the fleeting nature of time.
He makes great exclamations of delight when she’s still standing there as he gets his food. But just as we begin to pull out of the parking lot, the No. 6 bus swoops in to take her with it.
“Son of a bitch!” he shrieks, and I hear the soda upend in the backseat. “It’s just not my night!”
Mine either. I charge him 20 bucks for the clean-up.
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