drove to USC even though my sherpa told me not to.
forgot to tell this beautiful woman from MIT that i was in love with her and we should start a family in south pas. just drove.
drove even though i wanted to just snuggle up with a series of giant bong loads and ice cream. i got out there into the night and hustled until 3am for several reasons including we only die once.
his name was richie. an asian millennial from culver city who had just gotten back from vegas where he was ‘consulting’ with a wealthy nepo baby.
you might call him a finance bro, because richie works for a well-known bank where in order to keep their best customers happy, he’s instructed to hang out with a few of them to wine and dine them and make sure they see boobies.
this work has taken richie to hollywood, north hollywood, west hollywood, atlanta and tj with this particular gentleman, who also trades stocks through him.
they’ve won financing homes, boats, small businesses; and a loss with crypto and a czech ex, dominica.
was he on speed, coke, pills? bro kept talking and talking. this is just the part i remember.
his client is basically a 60-year-old teenager who can’t get enough of the best things in life including overpriced paintings of star wars creatures in contemporary times, a backyard pool equipped with dozens of jets and a heating system that makes it an enormous hot tub.
and naturally, blondes, redheads, and mexican hookers.
but even that has lost its luster. richie’s bosses are nervous.
so when the client asked him thursday night, can you meet me at burbank airport at noon tomorrow, there was richie decked out in a business casual outfit, walking in some comfortable shoes, with a little rolling suitcase, because they were going to gamble and drink and all the other vegas shenanigans.
richie, though, knew they would spend the bulk of their quality time at the spearmint rhino, home of “more 10s than I’ve ever seen, dude,” according to my passenger who had his eyes closed but never stopped his monologue.
if he had given me a chance to interject, i would have shared that i once ubered a young lady from brentwood to LAX and when I helped her with her rolling bag it was unusually light as a feather.
i joked with her and said, i love a girl who only packs bikinis in her carry-on.
and she admitted she was just popping into the rhino for a couple days of dancing.
which would cover her month’s rent.
richie blew his nose in some jack-in-the-box napkins I had handed him as we cruised down the 10 towards the palisades – another place i shouldn’t have gone because once you’re there, late at night, you can get stuck, but the angels were flying with me.
bro was chugging purple gatorade while telling me how he blew through a grand at the club in the first twenty minutes. a private room for $300, then the bottle girl pouring two shots for $100, one for him and one for the dance, and then, then
and then your money has vanished.
they know what they’re doing, he said, swiping left on his phone, wearing sunglasses, at night
as we got on pch he told me about the time last year where they flew to san diego, took an uber to the border, walked over the bridge, and toured the infamous tijuana hong kong strip club slash brothel.
if this guys so rich why’s he humpin’ basic mexican girls in TJ? i asked.
dude, i dont know. he can have anyone. he just likes talking dirty to skinny latinas who blow cigarette smoke in his face and drink out of the jd handle
in your line of work, is it appropriate for you to indulge too?
my role is to make sure he didnt get robbed.
typically, i wouldnt have gotten along with a guy like richie. he seemed a tad frattish, a little elite, and shallow, but we hit it off.
sex, drugs, and rock brings people together i guess.
and he was keeping it real with me. and he was keeping it real.
reminded me of the boy scout from Up, but all grown… up.
he told me about when he talked his client out of going to mexico, and instead took him to commerce where there are just as many skinny mexican dancing prostitutes with camel light breath, and a lot less danger.
there richie did indulge in a $350 half-and-half, he called it.
beautiful beautiful woman, he said smiling like it had just happened.
as he sighed, i got an opening to say something. i told him, i could never do any of that in a million years. im a germaphobe.
then i thought to myself, plus how am i gonna explain myself at the pearly gates: she was pretty?
st. peter’s gonna say they were all pretty. wtf tony.
but richie looked so happy talking about it. like he was surprised she was so thorough and attentive and comfortable in that cramped backroom whose twin mattress quietly sobbed over its destiny
but i was built for children, it sniffled with each grunt from above
i wanted to ask richie about the music because thats my favorite part of strip joints but i saw his phone had dimmed and he had successfully nodded off back there in between dark s-turns of the wooded palisades
just a few minutes away from the crashing waves of the pacific