Kevin asks,
"Hey Fred, Where do you park?"
Kevin, you forget for fifteen years I drove cab at night in
San Francisco.
(Once from a dead stop, I rear-ended a cop car who decided to
stop and ogle the hookers of Saint Francis. Both cops filed
for disability, and both lost in appeals. Fuck over a cop's
disability claim? Hell, I am a wanted man!) Before I fled to
teaching, I never stopped, let alone parked. One of those
fireflies in the night, I kept moving.
But how do you exit? I hear Kevin say.
Crack the handle, pop the door, and then do a slow roll to
the curb over broken glass, beer cans, and cracked asphalt. A
slow California roll is best. Else the road turn you into
sushi.
Don't let the guns catch you cryin'.
(I think Chad and Jeremy wrote that. Good noir thinking,
too.)
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This archive was generated by hypermail 2b29 : 07 Nov 2005 EST