Skip to main contentI picked up my fare downtown during the 2:30 am bar rush; he lived in Vancouver. He started talking about his recently departed ex-girlfriend and how he was totally over her. He'd been proving this to himself by picking up one-nighters in places like Bar 71.
I opined that the girls there all seemed to look remarkably alike, down to the same style of skirt and sacral tattoo. He confessed that he'd have a hard time recognizing any of the four girls he'd slept with, and tonight he had decided not to bother.
He started asking me about my boyfriend. Didn't have one. Did I recently have a break-up? No. Was I gay? No. What was wrong with me? Don't know. How long had it been? Oh, we're getting into years rather than months here. He found this hard to believe, me being so hot and all. Uh, thanks.
When we got to his house, the fare was about $30, and he was still going on about my dry spell. He said no one should go that long, and forget the fare, I should let him do something about it. "I don't mean actually fucking you. It's just I can't think of anything I'd rather do than just lick some kitty before I go to sleep."
I politely pointed out that the fare had run to $33 while he was talking.
WWeek 2015