Sunday, July 01, 2007

What the...?

Walking to my car last night, I was feeling very relieved that the night was over after a long night of dealing with drunk people, arguing about the dress code, repeating myself a dozen times over, listening to blaring music and feeling like I was going to go insane at any moment. I wanted to go home and go to bed.

The streets were empty, dark and calm, much different than it had been just 2 hours before when it was overflowing with drunk college kids puking, fighting, and hanging off each other as they made their way to a cab or their cars - the blind leading the blind.

Thankfully, the only activity that was going on at that moment were the cleaning crews that came through the streets to pick up the garbage from all the bars. Or so I thought.

I was enjoying my quiet little walk back to my car when I rounded the corner to find a man and woman arguing.

They were walking down the sidwalk in the opposite direction that I was headed, him behind her, and when she saw me 'round the corner she immediately began walking towards me and began to plead her case. I immediately recognized her as a prostitute.

"He think' I done stole his wallet, but all I did was suck his dick fo' money! Tell him to get away from me! I didn't do nothin'!" she said as she continued to do what I call the "crackhead powerwalk" away from him as he followed. She was probably only in her 30's, but she looked closer to 50. Too much crack and meth.

"No she didn't," he said to me. "She stole my wallet and won't give it back." He said this very nonchalantly with his hands in his pocket, almost as if he was uncomfortable with my presence. In all likelyhood, she probably did blow him and then pickpocketed him.

What also made this situation all the more strange was that she had, attached around her neck, one of those microphones that she spoke out of, because there was a fucking hole in her throat - probably from cancer from too many cigarettes. She had to press a button to talk, and her voice sounded like a raspy 90 year old woman, who was very annoyed and also happened to have a robot voice.

For the life of me, I can't figure out what those things are called. Oh, well.

"Ya gotta help me!" she continued to plead with her robot voice which sounded unusually loud. "Get him away from me! I ain't done nothin'!

I had just spent over 6 hours dealing with arguments, drunkeness, stress, loud music, and a general sense of chaos. So I did what anyone else in my situation would do...

I stuck my hands deep into my pockets, looked at the ground, quickened my pace and walked right by them without acknowledging their presence.

Those silly prostitutes.


At 10:07 AM, Blogger Polusplagchnos said...

That was more than likely Sherry. I don't know of too many prostitutes in the area with tracheostomies.


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