don’t hang up when i tell you they were two crypto manboys living in separate gated communities in an already exclusive part of orange county.

why do the wealthy need gates in rich neighborhoods? they don’t, but they do it anyways because sometimes you wanna look down on the poor and sometimes you want to look down on the almost-as-rich-as-you.

brad waltzed out of his two-story mcmansion with a spiked diet coke in a red solo cup wearing a blink-182 cap, sporting some gray in his five o’clock shadow. he moved the tricycle from the driveway onto the edge of his large lawn and away from the shiny cybertruck.

i was to drive him to his buddy’s house not far away and because it was lyft black, the most expensive platform i am qualified to drive in my vehicle, i excused everything. in part because i was being paid $40 to take him 10 minutes away. if i can make $25 an hour im happy so… wanna drink from a spilly cup back there? fine.

want me to wait at the first gate? whatever.

$40 is $40 and i had just crept from el segundo to irvine in impacted traffic with a very vocal back seat driver who screamed when i hit a plastic cone that scuffed my front fender, and it all took me an hour an a half and i only got $38.

so take your sweet time, brah, $40 in 10 is the universe evening things out.

while we waited to get buzzed into his friend’s second gate, brad said to me, i dont know how to use this app, would you mind if i added a stop after we pick up my business partner?

typically adding a stop is something i hate, because lord knows where they wanna stop, and murphys law they take for ever where they’re stopping. but on lyft black, add a million stops, lets stop at ever corner.

i can help you add a stop if you want, i said and held out my hand to get his phone, which he pulled away like i was gonna steal it.

no no, he said, what im asking is, which would you prefer? me to pay you on the side, or for us to do it on the app?

seriously, i said earnestly, i just want things to be easier for you my man. the customer is always right. right?

im trying to help you out, brad whispered, then taking a sip from his cup.

finally catching the hint that maybe he didn’t want his wife (or whoever) to see where he was going if they were tracking his lyft receipts, i agreed. cash is king i sang, then, where do you want to go after we get your bro?

there’s a restaurant called the red o in Newport about 40 minutes away, would you be cool taking us there?

no problem, i said. i actually know exactly where that is. traffic has been bad today but if it’s truly 40 minutes, i can do it for $40.

now, gentle reader, i knew i was offering this wealthy young man an extremely good deal, but call me monty hall, but i like making extremely good deals.

for many reasons.

i knew lyft would charge these guys $100+ to get from the highlands of huntington beach to newport beach mall, and i knew they’d probably do it for $60. but at my heart im a hippy and $40 for 40 minutes is the correct amount, so that’s what i asked for. he accepted and said he’d give me more, which is usually the kiss of death.

while we drove up the hill to his buddy’s immaculate home, he told me how 10 years ago they’d both gotten surprise $20k bonus checks at the place they worked.

brad said they were already making good salaries and at the time were in their early 30s and single and considered it found money, so they put it all into bitcoin and boom, very quickly they became multi millionaires.

wait what? i said.

yep, brad confirmed, sipping from the cup.

the fare will now be $42, i told him

he spit out some of his coke and laughed along with me.

when we got to johnny’s house he wasn’t outside yet so brad called him.

you here? johnny asked.

yeah, been outside for 19 minutes, brad joked, be respectful.

i laughed and thought, am i a frat boy deep down? why is brad winning me over?

johnny got in and as we zigzagged down the hill and through the dark, perfect roads with giant trees and wide lawns, the men teased each other about their smokeshow wives and spoiled kids and asked each other about thanksgiving that had just passed and the errands they were forced to endure.

i grilled mine this year bro, johnny bragged.

is grilling a turkey a thing? i asked.

oh it’s a thing, brad said pridefully. i did it last year—best turkey i’ve ever made.

really? so what’s the secret to doing it right?

first, you gotta have the right bird, johnny began, also sipping out of a cup, i noticed. get a Willie Bird from Williams-Sonoma. they brine it for you so it’s perfectly seasoned. no neck, no gizzards—clean as brad’s girlfriend’s cooch.

hey now! brad laughed and they clicked plastic then took swigs.

how much do they charge you for this wallybird?

johnny laughed WILLY BIRD, because it’s from william sonoma. price? i have a wife, so I don’t ask those kinds of questions. but i’d guess… $200.

brad nodded and said sounds about right. a good turkey at whole paycheck might run you $160. if you’re going basic, maybe $120 at Albertsons. but a Willie Bird is something else. plus, you don’t have to deal with the mess in your kitchen. have you ever brined your own turkey? it’s like world war three in there.

and his kitchen is all-white, johnny noted.

shit, my whole house is all-white: couches, carpets, christmas lights, brad said.

but not your sidechick, johnny sneered.

clink.

brad was into it and said, i stuffed mine with apples, oranges, and onions, then poured white wine into the pan. then i wrapped it in foil for the first four hours, and then you take the foil off for the last hour to crisp the skin.

if theres one thing i love it’s crispy skin. so i looked in the mirror and asked, you can cook it for an hour and get crispy skin without drying it all out?

it’s perfectly crispy, he said. the trick is taking the foil off at the right time. and pay attention. you can’t get baked while it’s baking. i set a lot of 15 minute timers so i kept peeking at it.

the best part is watching brad fuss over it, johnny said, he’s out there with an apron and a thermometer in one hand and a corona in the other checking the temperature and missing the football games. puffing on a stogie. dog trying to get anything that spills.

that’s called attention to detail, johnny. can’t rush greatness.

usually i wait until after the story ends to tell you how much they tipped, but what came next was not a tip, technically, it was the cash he gave me for the ride from johnnys to newport.

when i parked in the curved valet he said, forty bucks, huh?

i was all yep.

he peeled off a $100 bill and aimed the red Solo cup at me as a toast.

thank you so much i said and slipped the benjamin into my glove box.

while i pulled the car out of the valet and made a turn at the light i heard a noise in the back seat. something had fallen to the ground. a cell phone with a photo of a cybertruck.

so i looped back around, parked in the lot, opened the passenger side back seat door and there, in a small puddle of watery booze was the phone.

because ive been to this rodeo, i had a roll of paper towels in my trunk. retrieved that, wiped off the phone and tried to clean the water on the rubber floor mats but holy shit there was a lot of water.

so i went into the trunk and got a beach towel.

in hitchikers guide to the galaxy douglas adams says to always have a towel.

in la always have a beach towel.

i soaked up all the liquid from back there, balled it up and put the towel back in the trunk, making a mental note not to leave it there over night.

then i walked into the restaurant looking for the men.

i spied the blink-182 trucker hat and said, brad? they were at the bar, ordering shots.

i held up the phone.

he opened his arms and we hugged.

thank you! oh my god. thank you.

it’s my pleasure.

hey wanna have a drink with us?

im DRIVING i reminded them, and took off into the night

wondering if in the morning id have a tip in the lyft app once he remembered what went down.

see how much they tipped

pretty girl invited me to thanksgiving with her pretty friends.

seemed like a lot of pressure plus i dont have fancy clothes. im an uber driver with a new hole in the knee of my jeans and smoosh on my twenty-five dollar sneakers. plus what is there to say to these upwardly mobile kids who eat right and buy things and listen to unz unz unz music?

worse, i assumed afterwards she’d ask them if i was right for her. of course im not. nor is she for me. why we hit it off was a miracle that should have ended in a romp in her loft. but i dont romp any more.

i drive.

so thats what i did thursday and was rewarded with a trip from the most interesting man of hawaiian gardens.

the founders named it hawaiian gardens because they were liars trying to trick people into moving to a pleasant sounding one square mile city that’s cool most of the time but in the winter it floods like mad.

it flooded the city hall, the library, and even the burger shack with the palm fronds arranged in tiki style spelling out hawaiian gardens, which is where the city got its name.

but my man was not a liar. he was an 88-year-old ecuadorian who was led to my car by his daughter and granddaughter who hugged and kissed him and told him many times they loved him and he said it right back while holding his hands on their faces.

it was dark but i saw everything. i saw so much sweetness my eyes got cavities and my heart pounded with applause.

his name was francisco. he was clear-headed, quick, loud, and didn’t need a cane. he sat in the back and answered everything i asked him. halfway through i told him about you. i said, sometimes i write stories about the cool people i meet, would you mind if i told your story because leaving out any detail would be a crime.

he said of course, all i ask is you spell my name correctly: it’s francisco.

i called him general, jokingly, as you will learn later why, but he never corrected me. he was born in ecuador and moved to the US at 20 to become a pilot in the air force. the year was 1956. the US military he said, told several countries in south america to send their men and they’d train them for free.

i alerted him that i was not a smart person and admitted i couldn’t find ecuador on a map even if he gave me a hint. he said, oh it’s easy, we are between columbia and peru.

when i think of columbia i think of pure cocaine, i said, and when i think of peru i envision the perfect place to do ayahuasca. does ecuador have anything like that there?

no, we are a small country with neither of those distractions. instead the galapagos islands belongs to ecuador.

it does? i said, learning something. ever read galapagos by kurt vonnegut?

no.

who is the most famous person living or dead from ecuador? i asked.

me! he joked. but he wasn’t really joking unless you include mike judge the creator of beavis and butthead, but that’s it.

i called him general because when i asked him what he did before he retired from the air force who taught him how to fly the first jets, he ended up becoming the consul general for his country, but based out of LA.

he was so good at it they kept him on for a long time and he met all types of dignitaries and celebrities and even presidents of the united states.

who was your favorite?

i met ronald reagan, he said, nice guy, but my favorite was meeting my third wife, who i still miss. she passed away a year ago.

he then showed me his phone lock screen and there she was, blonde, smiling, beautiful, blue eyes, rosy cheeks.

GEN-ER-AL! i congratulated, was she a cohort, a visitor, a guest?

she was the consul general of iceland he said, looking at the picture for the millionth time, adoringly.

how cool is that! i said.

the coolest thing that ever happened, he agreed.

when you look at that picture, what memory pops up first? i asked.

on one of my birthdays, she rented a plane for me to fly her in. i had not flown in many years. it was a surprise. we drove to a little airport, we walked into the office and they told me which plane was mine. we got in and we flew to santa barbara for a beautiful lunch and we flew back.

general! have you heard of a flex?

no, what is this?

a flex is when you show off in a casual, nonchalant way, i explained. here you hadn’t flown a plane in years. but you just climbed in flicked some switches, kissed her on the cheek and zipped off into the sky. she must have thought what a man i have!

we loved each other very much. we were very happy together. but i will say this of happiness: you can make your life and paint it the way you want, using any color of the rainbow that you find beautiful. it’s up to you.

i see why you were a good ambassador to your country, i said, thinking about what colors i should stop using to paint my life and which i should stock up on.

oh i was not the ambassador. the ambassador was my boss, i only took care of Los Angeles.

what was the hardest part of being a consul general? i wondered aloud, sincerely. but again he hit me with some wisdom i didn’t expect.

everything was easy in every role i had: pilot, consul, husband, papi. because i loved them all. it is easy when your heart is in it. for example, i can tell you love to drive. and i am loving this drive because you seem genuinely interested in being here. and i am enjoying our conversation. many drivers have frowns and are honking and changing lanes, fighting the journey. i can see you are one with the vehicle, just like i was one with my jets.

omg thank you, i said, honestly amazed by this man. tell me about these jets.

when i was a teenager i wanted to be a pilot but i was told if you can’t handle a roller coaster without puking youd never make it in a military plane. did you ever puke from the spinning or dipping?

i never vomited, he laughed, but the planes i flew were nothing compared to the ones above us now. remember you are talking to an 88 year old man. any plane i flew 68 years ago could only do a fraction of what they do now, so it makes no sense to compare.

whats the fastest you flew?

i never broke the speed of sound, which is good, today almost all of them go that fast. i must correct one thing though, he said, one thing wasn’t easy, now that i recall. when i was first learning to fly here in the US, i did not speak english very well and all of our instruction was in english, so i had to learn two things: the language and the lesson. but because i love to learn, it was not insurmountable.

i asked him about a rumor i had heard that the reason people want to be ambassadors is because wealthy people are always trying to skirt the system and get passports for friends and relatives who should not get passports, so they bribe the ambassadors who pocket the cash and get very rich very quickly.

ecuador does not have people like that.

general? i said mockingly, accusingly, jokingly.

i promise you, we are an honest country and i am an honest man. i would not love myself if i helped let someone into the USA who didn’t belong here.

and see, thats why you had the job for 40 years.

oh no, i wasn’t the consul general for that long, i was a general in our air force for a long time and when i retired i was offered to be consul general.

and that’s why he never corrected me.

ok, i don’t like to talk politics to my passengers, i lied, but i must ask you this: since youre so worldly and smart and you have answered everything ive asked, which i thank you, you met reagan, the man who told gorby to tear down the wall. you love the US, you’re a veteran who has seen so much. what do you think of trump and these other republicans seemingly siding with Russia in the war in the ukraine? i ask because it seems crazy to me.

i have learned that not all politicians say things in public that they really mean. sometimes they say things to get elected, or stay in power, or to use as leverage, or for diplomatic reasons.

and when i got to his beautiful home i said, muchas gracias!

and he said, adios amigo!

see how much they tipped

hospitals are good places to get long rides because lots of times people go there from far away for procedures and they aren’t allowed to drive home. sometimes the hospitals wont even let them take an uber home because they’re so out of it and they make a relative or a friend get them.

when the patients do get an uber or lyft, the problem here in la is a lot of drivers’ english is bad, or they don’t know how to direct the woozy patient how to meet them at an easy-to-find spot.

frustrated, the drivers often cancel. i recommend if you want to get picked up at a hospital, walk across the street instead and meet the guy at a wendys or somewhere smarter than an enormous building with many places you could be lurking.

benjy’s destination was about an hour north of la, way deep in the valley. it was a good rate. his last three Ubers had cancelled on him and when i figured out where he was, i understood why. bro was on the side of the building near nothing identifiable.

we saw each other, thanks to my somewhat reliable ESP. I motioned him to wait on his side of the road, but he zipped through traffic anyway like outta frogger. got to me. cars honking behind us, and he got in.

didn’t i say to meet me by the ambulances, up front? i asked.

yeah but when i saw you, i couldn’t risk you driving away, he apologized. it was all good. i wish everyone would run to me.

poor guy was going through radiation. he was a career plumber, a successful one. sometimes he’d manage a crew for big projects. was about my age but the cancer added 10-15 years to him and the radiation another 10. i was surprised he could move as fast as he did beneath those wrinkles and gray thinning hair, but Gen X… we sneaky fast.

were you a long-time smoker?

oh yeah, he said, smiling, revealing a few missing teeth back there. a pack-a-day for 30 years. that mixed with drinking. i’ve had a full life: women, travel, drinking, hell raisin’.

i was told it was the women that would kill you, i joked, but i’m shocked to learn it’s the tobacco!

aint dead yet, he corrected me as i flicked the music to lynyrd skynyrd.

hopefully this was my last zap with radiation therapy, he said. i’ve been making this trip from granada hills to hollywood 2-3 times a week. never fun but I’m not ready to kaput.

you’re gen x, right? I asked.

yep.

so was it marlboro reds?

exactamundo!

tell me more about the radiation, i asked because he seemed super open now that it felt to him like he is cheating death. i said, what I worry about with any meds a hospital gives me is my poops are gonna be all screwy or my schween is gonna go on strike.

i have not had those problems, he assured me and said, the thing I’m worried about are these roids they have me on. these aren’t gym house metabolic steroids. these are anti-inflammatory, very hardcore steroids. like your body shuts off making its own steroids while you’re on these. the only way to control it is by eating. alot. I eat twice as much right now.

you look trim though benjy.

my weight is how i learned i had cancer. i lost 8 pounds in two weeks. i had a headache when i woke up and when i went to sleep .

look at you, i said, most people would be thrilled to lose that weight, but you knew there was a problem.

even though i abuse it, i know my body. i knew this was not right. didn’t think it was the cancer sticks, but to quote the ladyboy: tada!

now do you see why i drive these people?

benjy said the first time he went to the hospital they did a certain kind of x-ray but it didn’t show the cancer. so by luck, the doc suggested they try this other sort of x-ray and there it was, hiding in the shadows. it was actually the worst shadow. and that’s what made it noticeable.

looking to immediately change courses from the dark and sad subject, i returned to plumbing.

ever work with any of those Toto toilets that squirts water up your yahoo?

yes, the paperless toilet. the modern bidet, he said casually, and added, it’s the greatest thing ever. the seat’s all warmed up. the water’s warm. the air is warm, and then it dries you.

it literally blows you i said, and we laughed.

are those things hard to install?

you can buy the toilet, which, no, isn’t hard to install. or you can buy the toilet seat that you can hook up to any toilet. they actually had a place on melrose where you could actually test drive ‘em.

yeah because once is all it takes to be a believer.

benjy said, people ask me if its worth it and i say, it’s some thing you’re going to use every day, sometimes several times a day, and it treats you the way you should be treated: with elegance.

pamper your bootyhole.

you know, benjy said, that should be their moto.

ok so you smoked for 30 years, i said as we were getting close to his ranch house out in the woods, and then you couldn’t any more. how long did it take for you to be able to kick that habit? did the cancer scare you out of it immediately?

no way, i’ve been smoking 4-5 a day, even through this treatment.

what?

yeah, i didn’t tell my doctor until last month. he told me the progress had been good, the radiation was taking care of most of it, and then soon they’d go in and get the little parts near the edges. so i said, hey will it kill me if i smoke a few a day? and the doctor said, the damage has already been done, enjoy yourself. can you believe that?

what a doctor.

yeah he has that much confidence that i will recover. so it makes me feel good in that way.

do you think you will climb back up to a pack a day or will you stick with just 5?

it depends. they just gave me this gum. it’s for people like me who wake up craving a smoke.

do you wake up and think of cereal or a puff on the porch? i asked.

my problem is i have a kitten that demands my attention and im a little on edge without some nicotine.

had you never had a cat before?

well, i had a 13 year old dog and she was in some rough medical waters herself. i was hoping to go through all the stuff I’m going through with her sticking around. but when i got sick i got a kitten to be friends with the dog since i knew i’d be sleeping a lot. but my sweet dog died. and now the kitten is going through her most dramatic time of her life looking for that dog in my big house. she’s like where that dog? i just made friends.

nooooo 🙁

i feel the same way. i’m used to having that dog making noise. the house seems so much bigger and emptier. i’m just sitting there. and I can’t do plumbing. the doctors say I can’t do plumbing. i’m just physically not strong enough yet. i could probably do it, but just half day jobs.

well benjy i dont want to push you over a cliff, but you never seemed to listen to those docs before, maybe do a toto toilet a day and ease back in?

my favorite half day project is… there’s now a way for people to learn, through their phone, if there’s a leak or potential flood and they can turn off their water through their phone.

get out.

and it’s only about $2,500.

and you could do two in a day once you were healthy again?

that’s my goal.

when we pulled up to his driveway he got out and said, time to get assaulted by the kitten and eat a whole chicken.

see how much they tipped

she was a big black mail carrier in uniform outside the pasadena civic center which doubled as the pawnee city hall in the nbc series, parks & rec if you ever watched that great show. 

her name was nelly and as soon as she got in she started complaining about how she wasn’t able to take a lunch break all day because of some triflin’ men and she was starving and she hated everyone she worked with at the post office and–

i interrupted her because before i left for an afternoon of driving, i packed myself a little lunch that included two enormous costco croissants which i stuffed with brown mustard, mayo, and bits of that famous costco five dollar rotisserie chicken. 

i just happen to have an extra chicken sandwich in the frunk, i told her. it’s gonna take us about an hour to get to beverly hills. would you like it? 

oh honey, really? she sang. yes!!

so i popped open what would be the front hood in a non-electric car and got the sandwich in its ziplock bag along with a bottle of water. 

you’re an angel, she said. 

satan was an angel, once, i thought, but yes, it was nice to share. 

we got rolling and as i suspected, about ten minutes into the ride, i learned nelly is a transwoman, born a boy, and we were on the way to see a fancy hair removal doctor in the Beverly Hills triangle near Rodeo. 

the once-chatty nelly was quiet as she devoured the sandwich, poor girl. 

oh my gosh, she said, trying not to swear. you got that spicy mustard in here? 

so sorry i shoulda warned you. 

no sweetie i love spicy mustard, she said and gulped the water down so fast. 

unexpectedly she blasted into a tirade about politics and i said, you know sometimes i think half of these people say these things because it makes them money. they know what they’re saying is ignorant, but if you get enough people to buy into your brand of baloney, you can get rich. 

there aint no shame in being poor, nelly said, not disagreeing. people do be doing the worst things to make money though. my own grandmother was a big ole dope dealer, she said. 

what kind of dope? i asked

she had everything: crank, heron – not heroin – but heron. 

what’s heron? i asked. 

it’s heroin, but thats how black folks called it back in the day. im probably dating myself. im 50. 

you don’t look it, i complimented, that doctor has been doing good work on you. 

im about to get a whole bunch of surgery, she said. im about to get breast implants, more of this damn electrolysis, gonna get my face done… 

what size boobies you want? 

im getting triple Ds honey! 

yes! i laughed, she laughed. we smiled in the mirror speeding through eagle rock on the 134.  i considered shooting up the 2 and thought better. 

if you’re gonna get touched, GET TOUCHED she said, then lowering her tone said, i just lost 50 pounds. 

how did you do that? 

well first i got off the drugs 

which drugs? 

crystal meth, cocaine…

but dont those help you lose weight?  

not if you been doing it for as long… i started getting high at 11. id snort it, smoke it, buck it–

what’s bucking it? i asked wondering if i had misheard 

it’s when you shoot it or squirt it up yo ass. 

no! i said, maybe a littler louder than i should have, but she understood. 

yes! you put a needle up in there, without the tip. or get you a small turkey baster. 

and the booty hole absorbs it? i wondered aloud, truly fascinated because even though i had heard of this technique before – boofing, they called it – i never got the details answered the way nelly was educating me.

the ass has the biggest vein in the body, she noted. and i tried to visualize it, and failed.  

nelly, tell me about this: on tv ive seen people putting white stuff on aluminum foil and lighting the foil to get high, is that crystal meth? 

that’s free base, and that shit… that’s just wasting it. 

it’s inefficient? 

yeah, they should use a little $3 bubble pipe, she said in a judging manner, throwing her hand up and wrinkling her nose. 

like a crack pipe? 

no, and see, this ticks me off when i be seeing them talking ’bout this on tv. a man will clearly have a crack pipe to his mouth and they be saying he’s doing crystal meth. the crack pipe is a straight shooter. for crystal it has a little bubble in the glass. 

i think i would have made that same assumption, i admitted. 

i started doing crystal when i was dancing in the clubs, she continued. like me, there’s never room for long pauses in conversations with nelly. not when you’re talking fun topics like sex drugs and rock n roll. 

which club? i asked, curious if she would tell me about some of these places i haven’t been in. 

the gay clubs. i was smaller back then, she said, oddly judgmental of her booty which i assumed was prized. 

do they pay well?

yeah motherfucker yeah but you gotta have that charisma honey. the first person to give me a $50 tip was anna nicole smith! 

omg i love her. 

then i became an escort. 

oh? i said raising an eyebrow. post office nelly was delivering so much news to me i wish i had another sandwich. 

i moved out here 20 years ago to be a dancer, a real dancer, but i never made it. then i started whoring because back in the day when you were transgender, we weren’t even allowed to have jobs. like who gonna hire you at a regular degular office? but the government cant discriminate or we’ll sue they ass, so thats how i got this. 

but back then a lot of us had to be sex workers and i thank god every day i never caught HIV. i did become an addict, but that was later. 

don’t lots of people catch those things no matter their job? i asked. 

yes but trangenders, you know how many friends i’ve lost? 

i am so sorry, i said, and meant it. 

a lot of people who transition don’t be serious, she said. you gotta understand about these transgenders, a lot of these bitches aren’t even transgenders. a lot of them do it for the dick. a lot of them do it for the attention. and then you got these new bitches who be pansexual or fluid, she said, throwing up air quotes, or crock pot sexual. 

ive never seen anything bad come out of a crock pot i thought, but didn’t say. 

i started wearing women’s clothes when i was 12, nelly revealed, unprompted. 

you knew right away? 

i didn’t know, but my momma knew, she said. 

it just felt right?

it didn’t feel right or wrong, i cant explain it. it was second nature. i just liked it. i never came out, i just felt, i never felt…. i wasn’t a boy. i could fight like a boy, but i just wasn’t a boy. 

did you play with dolls? 

child, i still play with dolls. when i was six i got a barbie dream house! 

did you ever do drag? 

i did drag shows, but i wasn’t really draggy, you understand? there’s a difference between drag and tranny, she said, and i was lost again. wisely, i said nothing. 

when i was 12 i started wearing girls clothes. i got money to go shopping and i bought girls clothes. 

like blouses? 

girl i dont wear blouses. i started wearing a sports bra and girls tee shirts and bell bottoms and i grew my hair out. 

did you buy panties? 

yes girl.

were there other boys in your school who were doing this?

no. and if a boy said something id pop him in his motherfucking mouth! 

when was your first boyfriend? 

when i was 16. 

was it heaven on earth? 

no. it was weird because i didnt know what the fuck i was supposed to do. it was like a girl having her first boyfriend. 

he didnt know what to do either? 

he was a straight boy, it was weird. we were both–

how was he straight? 

he was straight, probably still is. probably have a white picket fence and some snotty kids. we just started liking each other. it was just an attraction. for two years this went on.

two years? and you still call him straight? 

yes because we never had sex 

but you touched each other, i stated, leading the witness. all i do is give leading questions btw. id be a bad lawyer. 

no, i didnt have sex until i was 18 and it wasn’t with him. 

you guys just kissed and stuff? 

yeah. thats it. 

i think thats so sweet, i told her. 

even though ive been a prostitute and stuff, ive always been very careful about HIV. ive been funny about sex. i dont have too many sexual partners, she said proudly.

ok but you said you were also an escort, and ive heard sometimes that leads to–

no! listen. a good prostitute never has sex with somebody. i would never allow a man to do no kind of penetration. no. no. no! so when you escort, you do a lot of mouth – you do a lot of talking. a man is paying for your company. 

how much? i asked. 

back in the day– these bitches today honey they give it away free. the most i got from one day was four thousand. 

TO TALK! i asked in amazement.

i didn’t even talk, she said. 

FIVE THOUSAND IF YOU WANT TO TALK, i joked.

no no, she said, realizing i had things confused. it would differ, she explained. but i did have to do some things. now you know, im a tranny. 

i dont know anything, i said smiling in the rearview as we got onto the 405 which was surprisingly light at that hour. 

lets just say you dont ask certain questions, nelly said, but you know certain things.

since i honestly don’t know anything, i kept quiet. 

we was in a raggedy hotel in north hollywood. he was doing some cocaine and i just had to walk around in panties, untucked, i’ll say that. thats as far as i’ll go. 

so it was a visual thing for him? 

a lot of these men, they want The Tranny Experience, and ive been with some famous people, that’s all im gonna say. i dont be name dropping. that’s not right. 

true and bill cosby’s in enough trouble, i joked. 

never! never! she said as i laughed. never. one thing i would not do. i dont play with guys. i dont like to have guys who want to pay me to dress up and have me degrade them while they’re dressed up. some guys feel like to be really transgender they have to be degraded like that. 

ok, i said, trying to get back on track, so $4,000 and he doesn’t even get to touch you? 

you aint putting that up in me. i dont play that shit. 

but do you play with him at all? 

we can do things, she said, suddenly being coy. 

Waze told me to get off and drive through the canyons of through Bel Air so i drove through the canyons of Bel Air. i had the new Kendrick on very low, but neither of us were paying attention to it. 

one thing ive never done is… some of these trans hookers are ruthless. they be stealing. i never did that because i believe in karma. 

well, you’re making thousands to strut around in lingerie. 

no, even when i was down in my addiction, only having $60 nights or $40 nights. and some of those dates came to my rescue. i just never stole from those motherfuckers. im just not that type of bitch. 

how did they rescue you? 

when i got really bad in my addiction and I didn’t have nowhere to go, this lay let me come back to his big ole house and stay without any strings attached. 

tell me about this $40 night, because i am someone who appreciates a good value. what were your clients getting for $40? 

oh that’s just a handy dandy. let me tell you something. i aint no dick sucker, because I still believe to this day I’m gonna get married one day. my husband is not gonna appreciated me having a whole bunch of cocks in my mouth. 

is it his business though?

it isn’t, but i’m an open book and I was a crafty bitch too. i used to sneak condoms in my mouth when I did have to. 

good for you!

because when I came out here, it was like 2001, okay? everybody had HIV.  i seen bitches, the most prettiest bitches, and 10 days later they dead. guys will pay you extra not to put condoms on. it’s not worth it. no.

good. 

let me tell you about no. a lot of women don’t understand pussy, a vagina, runs the motherfucking world. and being a bitch that tries to pretend like she has one, is hard. it’s exhausting. 

we got to beverly hills. she was like, oh we here?

i said take your time. 

she said, see, you’re a good one. don’t let these motherfuckers break you. 

never, i said. thank you for all you taught me today! 

oh girl you taught me a lesson too. 

i did? 

oh hell yes. when life tries to turn you sour, just add some spicy mustard. 

see how much they tipped

she was hot in that kardashian way, which might just be an armenian thing: thick brows, smoky eyes, lip filler, and showing off those bazooms like, hi!

so whats going on at land space tonight? i asked her checking out the destination, a former strip club id actually been in a few times, most recently right before the plague.

first date, sorta, roxy told me flipping through her phone but super chatty.

how’d you find him?

tinder she said embarrassingly, explaining she had just gotten out of a long relationship that started… on tinder. so why not.

quickly i learned he was a punk rocker in a small band and he’s in between apartments, let’s say.

roxy, i said, adjusting the mirror, judgingly.

what? she laughed. im bored and he asked. i said, fine but you better prepare because a lot of punk rock boys are stinky and i do not want stinky.

i laughed. she laughed. the freeway was crowded but manageable.

so lemme ask you, i said, if one thing leads to another where are you gonna go?

i’m not gonna lead to another, she said. i’m gonna meet him and be his friend and that’s that.

how adorable. be his friend i thought.

i told him maybe MAYBE if you’re cute i’ll give you a little kiss but you’ve gotta brush your teeth and you have to make sure you shower before we meet up. and he also told me he smokes cigarettes. and i told him that’s not my style.

you are just giving him every chance, i complimented.

you know why? because i don’t care. i don’t like this guy. if i liked him i wouldn’t be such a pushover. what do they say, “you can’t be the golden retriever. you have to be the black cat.” that’s what they tell women.

i’ve never heard this, i said.

it’s a thing. they say, for men to want you, you have to be the black cat. but I’m always the golden retriever. but with this guy, i don’t give a fuck because clearly i’m not gonna be that into him.

is he really handsome?

he’s a cutie, but again, the hygiene is sus.

so are you gonna give him a smell test right away?

i think im gonna have to, right? he said he was going to bring some mouthwash and i said that’s wise. it’s funny, because i’m not materialistic or high maintenance, but i guess today i need to establish some regulations.

are women this horny? this lonely? this fuck-it-it’s-friday i literally will meet a stranger even if the odds are the B.O.’s gonna be unforgettable?

should i be giving her my number? was she crazy?

was she Good Crazy?

i continued the cross examination: so he’s traveling the country… with his band? have they played here in la lately?

no, his band played in oakland the other day and he got in his car and drove down here for this date, i guess. and he knows people who are playing tonight

so he can crash with them tonight if he doesn’t get lucky with you? i asked.

oh it’s not gonna happen, she said. even if i ended up being like oh he’s great, it’s not going to happen tonight. no. sorry.

as we turned the corner, bam, there was a giant moon rising just above hollywood.

holy shit, didn’t expect that, i gasped.

full moon, she said, wow now im scared. maybe i should have stayed home.

i said, but you don’t care. which is good. no expectations is the place to be. see when guys don’t care we’ll at least say, fine we’re not gonna get married, but maybe we should make out a little since we’re here.

i might be down for that, she said, which I usually am, but i’m kinda sketchy with this one, because i don’t know if he’s cleeeeeean.

we were getting close. we passed an old sears that’s now a giant block-long hole. itd been an empty box for maybe a decade. weird how some things take forever to change and others come and go over night.

so smell test at the beginning, i asked, but if he fails do you leave?

no, i don’t leave. im gonna be his friend. im gonna make the most out of it. im gonna buy him drinks. he’s gonna buy me drinks. we’re gonna hang out. we’re gonna be friends and I will be his friend moving forward,

does he even have money for drinks? i asked, even though he…

yeahhh! she interrupted. he said he’s paying for me. i told him i’m broke, my sister got my uber.

wait, you’re not roxy?

ha, she laughed and said i’m veronica, and flashed her necklace with a sassy V on it.

does your sister know all these details about this dude and stuff?

yeah, she said, just dont get all drunk and stupid. mocking her in a valley girl accent.

how many drinks does it take for you to get drunk? i asked.

well i pre-gamed just now at roxy’s house, so.

omg what were you all shooting in there?

oh just some tito’s. just two mixed drinks.

you are fantastic, i admitted.

considered giving her my number if things get hairy, but the tyson fight was about to happen and i wanted to get wasted for it just in case netflix had paid him off not to bash the brains in of his youtuber opponent so this travesty in “boxing” could continue.

i need to drink sometimes like this because i’m shy. even if i’m not into him, he said we’re gonna hang out backstage with the band. i’m fucking shy. what am i gonna talk about with a band?

firstly, i said, you don’t seem that shy. we’ve been gabbing non stop.

well, you’re different, she said.

also, here’s what you might try if you’re backstage and no one knows what to say. i’ve seen this work way better with black cats than golden retrievers. just say, ok, let’s do a staring contest. first person who smiles or makes a face has to do a shot. it’s one-on-one, starting with me versus the singer, which one of youse is the singer?

staring contest? she said, thinking about it. i thought it’s whoever blinks?

make up any rule you want, but the idea is for you to break the ice by looking deep into the eyes of these people, and they into you, quietly, seriously, and while you do it, try reading their minds.

when she got out of the car i yelled, HOPE HE SMELLS GOOD!

see how much they tipped

i should not be here right now. 

usually i love driving on halloween but thursday i wasn’t feeling it. you could tell because when i should have been out there after dark, i was instead dilly dallying by handwashing my car, getting a sandwich and going to universal to charge up. 

if i had been into it, i would have done those things wednesday so id be ready to get out there by 6. instead it was ten and i was playing chess on my phone waiting for my car to get charged above 60. 

i had lyft and uber on so i could see what rides were coming in. $7, $8. Nothing great. 

kept charging and then i saw something id never seen before. 

$154 to go an hour and twenty minutes north. 

as you know i smoke a lot of pot. 

and ive seen and done some things. so my vision isn’t always reliable. 

my brother taught me to just accept those offers quickly and then double-check on the price later. otherwise some other driver would get the trip and i’d be kicking myself.

lyft and uber only give you seconds to decide if you want a ride or not. it’s nerve-wracking to some. especially if they’re driving when the offer comes in. neither company should be allowed to do that. super dangerous and the driver is not insured during that period of the trip. 

i may get commercial insurance if i start doing more private rides because then id be able to advertise. 

hot box private driver at yr service.

the drawback is both companies can pull you off the platform if you accept and then cancel too many rides. so you have to try to be careful because there isn’t a set percentage that automatically boots you. everythings a guessing game. 

clicked the button to accept, quickly double-checked all the info. yep $154. going to fraizer park. should be 80 minutes or so. 

i told the car the address and the tesla map appeared on the screen and yep, about an hour twenty. it was late enough that anyone who was going out for halloween were out. or in. but not on the roads.

so i opened the door, took the charger arm off my car and back into its holder for the next person. 

and drove up the hill to the universal lyft lot and picked her up. 

her name was rachel and she was dressed as a slutty tinkerbell. great costume. probably handmade. too good. said she was drunk but you couldn’t tell other than she was as talkative as i was. 

we sped through the valley, past six flags, up the 5 gabbing, laughing. it was cool. 

she was one of the go-to people for hair and makeup for the movie and tv studios. 

so smart except for one thing. she didn’t trust newspapers. 

what? i asked. we cant get married then, i sighed. 

my husband will be relieved to hear that, she said and laughed.

then we both laughed and changed the subject back to fun things like celebs. 

you are so beautiful i said, trying to find the way to ask her if she ever boned someone famous. 

instead, i just said, who was the celeb who impressed you the most? 

deion sanders 

not what i was expecting. 

i also didnt expect to be at 14% battery when i got off the freeway and began winding my way through the woods of fraizer park to this nice woman’s log cabin. 

theres a thing about electric vehicles they dont really tell you about. and that’s theyre way more efficient in stop-and-go traffic than they are on the freeway at 11pm on halloween night when no one is on the road except truckers and one particular lyft driver who foolishly thought he had enough juice to go the 80 miles and then 20 more to the closest super charger. 

oh no. i said without thinking, staring at the tiny 14 on the giant ipad screen, which really should get larger as it drops below 20, the level tesla says it should never go under. 

what is it? tinkerbell asked, startled. 

this says i have just enough battery to get to your house, turn around and keep going north to the charger. 

if it says you have enough, why are you saying oh no? she asked. 

because when we left it said i’d have twice as much juice to get to your house, so im not sure i trust it tonight.

ah, regenerative braking, rachel said, knowing the science behind how when EVs and hybrids slow down or brake, the battery recharges itself. dont ask me how it does it. everythings magic to me. 

dropped her off at her place and i was at 13%. i turned around and started driving through the pitch black woods of this beautiful part of southern california that is so high up, it’s where LA weathercasters go when they want to show the first day of snow. 

sometimes they have to close the freeway up there because of ice and snow. next to the energy number was the temperature: 34 degrees. it was 65 where i picked her up. 

im going to die in the cold and a bear is going to eat me i thought after i remembered my new phone, which barely worked in good service, wasn’t really working in the woods. 

damn you boost mobile! 

but it was playing springsteen on shuffle for me, so i took that as a good sign as I crept slowly so as not to expend much energy for what my map said would be a 25-minute drive. 

how was i supposed to drive for 25 minutes and only use 14, now 13% of the battery? 

and how was the estimate saying it would have 4% when i got to the charger?

so i said to the steering wheel, fine, if you think we can make it there, imma let you drive

and i flicked the switch to Full Self Driving, or what i call Robot Mode and i let the car take over. 

it drove slower than i do. but everyone does. the new software update had it hugging the turns nicely and it did something wonderfully that i dont do well: it turned on the brights and automatically turned them to normal when a car approached. 

my eyes were glued on the numbers. they didn’t move much. we were at 12% but had driven for 5 minutes through this wilderness i knew nothing about and where very few lived. 

we passed a closed-down gas station and then an opened one and never had i felt so much fomo for petroleum before. as we passed, my lower lip stuck out and i pressed my hand at the window at the gas pumps which anyone could use… except me. 

the robot car whizzed past it.  

i searched for things that weren’t there. surely that empty real estate building has an EV charger. even a slow one would do the job. a half hour’s worth would guarantee i could make it to the Tejon Pass where the fast chargers were lined up and ready.

the robot took the service road that ran parallel to the 5 freeway and i thought, ah yes, smart, creep along, start, stop, start stop your way to almost-Bakersfield. genius, robot car! 

and then it turned us onto the onramp of the freeway and i was all uhhhhh. 

we were at 10 percent with 10 miles to go to the charger. 

and now on the one place that sucked all our juice out: the frickin freeway.

still i let it drive. and it did, up the grapevine, and then down it, slowly, but not annoyingly so. fortunately dozens of semi trucks were putt-putting it along too. 

then a miracle happened. the estimate went up, claiming we would have 5% battery when we arrived, then 6%. 

how is this happening? i thought with neither my hands or feet on the wheel or on the pedals. 

The Lord, my inner monologue answered. 

and i said, yeah, guess so. then i said Thank you Lord. 

and Bruce played and i couldn’t believe my good luck, and then i said to myself, ok so if the Lord loves me, where have all the bitches been lately? 

and the voice said, 

the last thing you need right now tony is more bitches 

and we drove and the numbers didn’t move. 

and we got off at the exit and i pulled up into the charger with 10% miraculously, and plugged the power into the car, 

and walked across the street in the wind to a denny’s that was about to close 

ordered a grand slam breakfast to go and asked to use the john 

and i whizzed and prayed and gave thanks because, woah.

see how much they tipped

they were very gay and very drunk.

actually only one was very gay

the other was russian

came here a year ago to get away from putin.

his bf was an art director and designer and at first i was worried he was gonna hurl.

it was 4pm on sunday.

sorry we’re drunk, the designer apologized with earrings and a trucker cap and his hands all over his soviet hunk

bottomless mimosas? i guessed.

all day wine, he slurred.

the thing about drunk people is they’re unpredictable.

that is not a good thing when it’s a half hour ride from pasadena to weho.

one minute the designer was mocking every question i was asking his man,

next he’s singing along to the kacey musgraves tune on the radio

and placing his warm hands on my neck and back to emphasize the lyric.

the russian was serious but in a confused way like when you wake up to commotion and you’re not sure if you should put your pants on before addressing the mayhem

i hate putin, he murmured when i asked what made him come here

what do you do now that you’re in the states?

i move things he said and looked at me in the rear view

i like to brag that if youre in the car with me for ten minutes i know whats going on. let the record state i had no clue what comrade meant

so we talked russian literature

what do you know about the russians? the designer mocked while hiccupping, fiddling with his seat belt

un petit peu, i said

what? he said, finally sitting still

i said tolstoy used to have the rich people speak french if the servants were in the room and then revert back to russian when they were gone. that way he could tell you where people were… without telling you. bro’s a damn genius.

oh.

the russian’s name was pyotr

it means peter in russian the designer informed me

peter’s the rock in the Good Book, i nodded to the designer.

always! he said, taking a grab at the eastern european

lemme ask you a question, pyotr, i said.

more of the questions from this guy, designer sighed.

it’s illegal to be gay in russia, right?

yes.

so how old were you when you found out you were illegal?

what? pyotr asked because of his English

but the designer chirped, how old were you when you knew you were a fucking breeder?

first grade, i said. she was the fattest girl in class. we were outside in a line waiting to get into school on a cold day in illinois. her name was wendy and her big ol’ red cheeks were redder than ever. she was tall. i was not. so i climbed up like she was a redwood tree and when i got to her cheek i kissed it and slid down

pyotr was imagining all of this and i continued

but wendy wasn’t as shocked as the other kids because i had done the unthinkable. so they started chanting You. Have. Wendy. Germs! You. Have. Wendy. Germs! You. Have. Wendy. Germs!

the men held hands in the back and listened

so i ran at my class of first graders with my hands out in grabby motion, laughing as they shrieked and scattered IM GONNA GIVE YOU WENDY GERMS! IM GONNA GIVE YOU WENDY GERMS!

i was 15, pyotr said.

i had nearly forgotten i had asked a question.

i said, ok so im taking you to weho, which is like the unofficial center for gay guys in LA. is there an unofficial gay center in moscow?

nyet, he said.

everything’s underground?

yes. it’s illegal. very bad things could happen if you were found out.

then the designer chimed in, but nicely this time.

he said, when i took pyotr to pride this summer, my sweetie cried.

pyotr! i said, surprised that this stoic man wasn’t just a handsome robot or walking drone

i’d never seen a thing like that. he said. people everywhere.

freedom, he said.

then, i never want to go home.

see how much they tipped

i was sitting in the Y on wilshire in santa monica across the street from where diane’s bikinis was for 30 years.

when i moved to santa monica from illinois 40 years ago, one of the first things i noticed next to the 7-11 near lincoln near st. monica’s church was that shop.

it was a simple bikini store with incredible babes of all sorts going in and coming out. it was like a cartoon of ants going into the hole with tiny leaves and marching out to get more. except this was the opposite.

for 30 years every time i drove by id see the prettiest girl of the day strolling out with a little bag with Diane’s written on it.

who knows if it was the Internet or malls getting smarter or competition but when her bikini shop closed it was like watching a tree grow and bloom, then get zapped by lightening and instantly die.

could this have been avoided? like what on earth could diane have done other than maybe selling five years earlier, on top.

is there a lesson for all of us here? how on the money was kenny rogers when he said you gotta know when to hold em and know when to fold em? what should i be folding right now before that bolt of death strikes?

her name was missy, she was from upper arlington ohio. she was on the phone, her man was late, still up in the crib. she got in, kept the door open for him. on the phone she was trying to change shifts with the mid-morning guy so he would take her 6am shift and he would give her his 9am.

who on earth would make that hellish trade?

so i spied in the rearview and holy moses she was stunning, but in the most natural way. i guess if she called me on friday night asking me to do her a favor id probably reluctantly acquiesce, even if it meant going to work at an ungodly hour. theres worse things than having babes owe you one.

when her man finally arrived he apologized and slid in, also on the phone. he was Black, she was blonde, both stylish, both so busy even though it was 10:30 at night and we were going to hollywood.

normally if someone is one second late id cancel the ride. fuck ppl disrespecting my precious time. time is the most valuable thing we have because it’s fleeting and limited.

but also lyft for some reason was giving me an excellent rate and it would get me to the heart of hollywood which is colorful and alive and grungy and electric. and all the things i love. yes i will wait as long as you want to get your tardy ass into my tesla.

immediately they were great. so in love.

we are in love, missy sang to me.

where did you meet?

i’ll admit, she said, i slid in his DMs

yes you did, he said in a baritone.

she had stripey pants, feathered hair, a choker with a heart pendant right on the adams apple, blue mascara and a crop top. when she told me she was in fashion i was all, duh.

of course. just look at you, i said.

are you too? i then asked him cuz he had a striking style too, but just like her, not in a forced way. he wore a simple mesh top and jeans that probably, magically, cost hundreds of dollars.

not like her, she makes money from it, i just like it.

they were both new in town and had exchanged flirty DMs for quite a while and both agreed to move to LA where they would live together and see what happened. if it didnt work out it didnt work out, at least it was fun trying two miles from the beach.

before we even made it to the ten she said in the most sincere hippy girl yet slightly dramatic way, can i just say, i feel blessed that you are our driver tonight.

awwww, thank you i said back, and then i remembered we were going to a club in hollywood and said oh wait, are you two on drugs?

they laughed and said, hahaha not yet!

i closed the windows when we got on the freeway and wanted to floor it but lots of people were heading out of the west side. it was a prime halloween party weekend. en route we saw some houses that had good lights, monster scenes, skeletons that neighbor kids had rearranged into obscene positions.

who is your fashion hero, missy?

vivienne westwood she said right away

now heres the thing, sometimes you get lucky. sometimes you steer a conversation into a dark path in the woods, having no idea what awaits you in there that’ll make you look like a dope. even at my ripe old age, that’s the direction i typically go.

and sometimes you get lucky.

i had just happened to have watched a so-so docuseries on the sex pistols on hulu last year and i learned that vivienne westwood in 1975 or ‘76 worked in a wild fashion shop in london and her boyfriend malcolm mclaren brought in johnny rotten and sid vicious to get dolled up, and somehow chrissie hynde worked there too, and the shop was called SEX, all caps, bold.

but all i said was, ah yes, sex.

excuse me? they both gasped.

the first shop she worked at, i clarified. on kings road. where proto punk rock style was born. it was called SEX.

silence.

all caps i added, and pointed towards london.

bra-vo, he said

i love her, missy sighed.

then do this one thing, i said, don’t ever stop. nothing is impossible here. dreams come true in LA.

why in LA, he asked.

because let’s says something great happens to someone in farmfield, ohio. youre happy for them but you make up excuses about them that separate you from them. that they had a freak growth spurt or had a rich uncle or got massively lucky.

but here in LA, you see this month’s It Girl starlet isn’t the prettiest in real life. you’ll see little missys in the back seat of ubers who are hotter. or you’ll catch a glimpse of the new action star at the gas station and see he isn’t the burliest.

and lord knows you know the hottest band on the charts isnt the hottest because you saw them six months ago get blown away by three kids from japan.

in LA we watch mediocrity rise to the top overnight month after month, year after year, and you can choose two ways to reconcile that:

you can give up because fuck this game where the lame asses never stop winning,

or you can choose to keep playing because fuck it, clearly anyone can get it as long as you dont move back to bumfuck.

preach, she said

so i did

i say hold LA for what it is, a soundstage, a backlot, the green screen where you are going to pull off the miracle of making your dreams come true.

back there in century city is the nakatomi center, i said gesturing to the west, the building from that christmas movie die hard,

near where i picked you up is the third street promenade where pee-wee got his bike stolen,

and where im taking you is where in knocked up, the Black guy from the office was the doorman who told the two beautiful women he couldn’t let them in because, “you old and you pregnant.”

this entire city is a set.

star in the art film youd watch.

see how much they tipped

got them at a west adams haunted house
called the beckett mansion

at ten ten on ten ten twenty twenty
four

i hadnt driven in a while and it was good to be out there

it was my friday, their thursday, id done all i needed to do miraculously, at a reasonable hour

which gave me time to go to a rock show, drive my neighbor home 

and head out into the streets of la seeing who would take me where.

the house was perfect, all black, glowing red framed windows

pumpkins, orange twinkly lights,

two overly costumed victorian babes with fake blood dripping from their necks tossing candy corn into each other’s awaiting mouths distracted me

and i was startled when i heard a tap on the window.

uber? a couple asked.
i dont have any signs in my windows. 

dont even have a front plate. 

im trying to see if i can get my esp back 

yes im your guy

tony?
alex?

they were a cute young pair. maybe 33 and 30

dressed like they knew a few things about clothes 
good hair, smiles, breath like booze

what the hells going on in there? i asked when we pulled away 

haunted house, alex said happily, like it was worth the $80 each. 

his girlfriend, sam, i learned later was his wife, so young

and yet so happy
how? 

maybe because they have date nights on thursdays 

and great good luck into my back seat where before we even make it to the ten i was all

was it a great haunted house?

omg soooo good!

did you guys take some shroomies? 

laughter 

well youre in the right car for sure alex, cindy, i said

and then, siri play california girls by sonic youth.

it was dark south of the ten and a big crazy half moon was trying to dip down in the west but something was keeping it up. there were things to see in la.

the night had barely warmed up. 

what accent is that of yours? he asked me.

i grew up in the burbs of chicago, i said

cub fan or sox fan? he asked, laughing, leaning forward.

i turned my cap around so he could see

damn! he said, and tapped his wife on the leg

is that good or bad? i asked

the cubs are my favorite thing in the world next to my wife, he said

then it was me who felt on shrooms

alex and cindy were from north carolina 

and were old enough to have watched wgn on cable

which would telecast, back in the day, every cubs game into millions of US homes, including impressionable living rooms like alex’s

who fell in love with the unassuming ryne sandberg.

alex’s dad was from chicago 

which is why alex’s baby brother is named ryne

ever go to wrigley? i asked him.

we go every year.

get out.

seriously. 

how about you? he asked. 

every september, for my moms birthday. 

awwww cindy said.
was she hot?  

who’s not in my back seat? it’s unnatural. 

but like are you really a cub fan? alex asked. 

siri, pause, i said, and then 

bro, we’re in la. its october. the dodgers are gonna play game five of the playoffs tomorrow

and im wearing a spring training cubs hat i got in sloan park in mesa in 2016

ive had girls kiss me and say i taste like old style beer

fully krausened

cubs in 

four.

i hate the dodgers, alex muttered.

the dodgers?

i shouldnt say this because im jewish but my list of things i hate are 

hitler 

cindy chirped, alex! 

the white sox, 

and the dodgers.

siri play oh sweet nothin 

you know, i said, i used to wonder if i would even date a girl who was a sox fan

oh no thanks, he said

what?? cindy asked 

like even if she was the coolest funniest dirtiest bad bitch in the whole dance club, could i date her? 

alex nodded quietly: nope. 

like if Blackpink loved me, could i date them if they were sox fans? ok maybe. but could i marry them?

absolutely not, alex said

yeah i dont think so either, which is sad. 

it’s not sad he said. 

it IS sad, cindy argued

but ill say this, i said, with age im mellowing on that

you have?

yeah the world series changed me. some things im getting over. almost everything. i said. if my boo wants to root for the sox fine fuckit it’s her funeral. just dont rub it in my face. 

then he said, my dad ran into yosh at the grocery store when we were visiting relatives in arizona

the equipment manager? i asked. 

Yes! 

wait – how do you know who the equipment manager is, cindy asked? 

i turned my cap around so she could see. 

yosh is a legend, sweets, alex told her. 

when the wrigleys sold the team to the chicago tribune there was a clause that yosh could never be fired, i told her. 

no shit? alex asked. 

he’s in the cubs hall of fame, even cooperstown has his floppy hat, fuckers, they should give it back, i said, turning off the 10 onto the 405 to take them to their shockingly swanky modern apartment in venice. 

why should they give it back, cindy asked? 

because the Hall is a fraud, i told her. they don’t have the best players in there. 

they dont have the guy with the most hits, the guy with the most dongs, the two guys who saved baseball one being Sammy mother-truckin’ Sosa. 

the best, alex said quietly. 

are we best friends, he asked me? 

depends how much you tip me

ahahah he said, oh you’ll get a tip. but seriously, i dont have anyone to watch cubs games with. can i get your info and you can come over and watch some games with cindy and i one day? 

fuck that, alex, cubs are going to japan to start the season next year. to play the dodgers. 

are we going to japan? 

siri, how do you say fuck yeah in japanese?

see how much they tipped

wearing new clothes she just bought at ann taylor. flirty little swoop of hair just above her eyes. and firehouse red lipstick.

her name was penelope.

thick, built, 50, happy, dressed like she was heading out for ladies brunch at the ritz, but swore she was just a growed up farmer’s daughter from iowa now living in maine and divorcing a man of 20 years she now wonders if she ever loved.

youre gonna hate me, she’d warn after i asked her a question. 

if you never loved him, what made you wanna have three kids with the fat scad? 

youre gonna hate me, but he was nice to me, she admitted.

thats all it took?

after years of being called fat and ugly – or treated that way – no matter how good she was at managing or singing or making clothes or cooking, no one appreciated her. through her teens and twenties.

she’d kick ass at work and come home to a lonely little condo.

until she ran into a man in line at the grocery store who got her number, they started dating, and he latched on.

as soon as I believed that he meant the nice things he said, i was ready, she told me. i was 30. things were already starting to come: wrinkles, grays, varicose veins. i didn’t really want to get married that quickly

but you’re going to hate me, i got knocked up and we decided to keep her. so we got married at the courthouse, she told me as we drove from universal studios to the four seasons in calabasas. 

before we knew it, i had three kids and a fourth, him, sitting on my couch, incapable, or unwilling is a better word, to do anything substantial around the house.

all while saying how much he loved me. who wouldn’t love the maid who cooks cleans and pays all the bills? he had no money. i had, and still have the money.

if you two were doing it that often, you must have at least liked him a little? i asked, always looking for a love story.

you’re gonna hate me, he got me drunk all three times.

what the? 

he thought i’d stay if we had a bunch of kids, she laughed, like a woman who loved her kids but didn’t consider them a burden. he, on the other hand, was expendable.

but now he won’t leave until our divorce is final.

so i am here. but you will hate me if i tell you any more.

it was such a beautiful sunny day. i had just moved my bowels in a satisfying and complete way. my water supply was good in my cup holder and my car was charged and could go another 150 miles without worry.

penelope, there’s no way i could hate you. so tell me, what on Earth did he pour that made you sooooo drunk that three kids are made?

well the girls are tequila babies and the boy is a vodka baby. 

she said. and then:

i want him out of the house, i want him sober, i want him out of my life. unreasonable because i also want him to take care of the kids every other weekend because tony ive been trapped in this house in a loveless relationship where we don’t even sleep in different beds, we sleep on different floors. i hate him so much i even hate the way he watches tv. which is always. 

and i hate that the boy looks just like him. 

because i love that little smooshface.

the weird thing about the san fernando valley is the closer you drive to woodland hills, which was on the way to our destination, the hotter it gets. i was wondering why my AC was not pumping out the relief until I looked at the temp on the screen which read 105 degrees. but she didn’t seem to mind back there.

so wait, youre not even divorced yet and you’re blowing the alimony at the four seasons way out in calabasas? 

oh i wont get any money from earl. i have the money. im spending it before he can get any more of it. he’s never made any money. it’s my farm we sold before we moved to maine. and it’s that farm that he’s gonna get half of because we got it together with my money. im an imbecile. 

ok, i said, but you know theres a four seasons in beverly hills. two, actually. do you love the kardashians that much?

there was a silence. i thought maybe she was texting someone and wasn’t paying attention to me.

but that wasn’t it.  

youre gonna hate me, she said. a man i met a few months ago bought me a plane ticket to la.

PENELOPE! i yelled. fake shaming her and applauding at the same time.

let me look closer at you! i said and pretended to adjust the rear view mirror.

she laughed because im telling you, she very much looked like a mom with three kids who went through hell and is catching a quick second wind out in LA.

so im staying in his hotel room. he works in the film business. he was scouting locations in maine and we met at starbucks. he’s probably married too. we know better than to bring any of that up. but he’s always on the road and his wife nags him to come home but he loves travelling.

PENELOPE! i yelled again because i was now conflicted. was she just another woman this guy was using? is that ok? she seemed happy.

well as long as he doesn’t murder you, i guess this is good, i finally said, even though i shouldn’t have said anything.

he won’t murder me, she said laughing, cleaning her new fendi sunglasses with her blouse sleeve.

this morning at 6am he got a phone call and said he was being asked by a different director to fly to h?awaii to look at a location that had just been made available. so since the room is paid for through monday, im here doing all the touristy things all my girlfriends told me to do: rodeo drive, the walk of fame, universal studios

tomorrow is venice beach

then Nobu

see how much they tipped