My family and I went to visit my “uncle” (叔叔:shūshu) in Indianapolis. You know, one of those people that are family friends who aren’t really related, but that’s how the Chinese language works out. We went to a buffet that had corny astrology decor on only the right side of the dining room. The story of star-crossed lovers hung on a banner.
HALLOWEEN. I finally got to do a group costume! Erika cut off individual leaves off of a vine and then sewed/glued them on a swimsuit. That’s dedication. I just looked for a running jacket and Kayla went to the costume store. The night life: nothing says you’re interested in a girl more than ghost lingering (when you don’t talk to the person you’re interested in, but both of you are aware that you’re just… standing there. You’re standing just close enough to her to maybe brush her elbow and then some, but you’re on the defensive in case she freaks out).
During a late night run for sandwiches, I locked eyes with an orange suited pimp. I’d grabbed a table and was waiting for Kayla and Erika to order their food. I gave a “can I help you?” look and he took it as an invitation to sit down at the table. “You can’t sit here,” I told him.
“You know what, you know,” he slurred and unpacked his sandwich. He paused for a moment to look at me. “I’ll leave after I’m done with this sandwich.” I don’t say anything. “I said I’ll leave after I’m done with this sandwich.”
“Alright, whatever floats your boat.” I rolled my eyes and exchanged glances with Erika and Kayla who joined me at the table. The pimp’s friends grabbed the remaining seats. Entertainment at its finest.
“I’ll sell it to you for 900, and then you can sell it separately for 400 and then make a profit. You’d be stupid not to take the deal. I’m trying to make money here and help you make money. Don’t you like making money?”
“Yeah, don’t you?” His friend in a white fedora and vest egged on.
“I’m trying to make a thousand each week. I’m trying to make money,” the orange pimp said. “Don’t you want to make money? Cause I’m trying to make money.”
“I think most of us are,” I muttered. They left after the pimp finished his sandwich, and they realized that we had no interest in going home with them nor did we dish out a few hundred for recreational purposes.
“Alright, let’s just go home and…” Orange pimp and his friend headed towards the door. White fedora bid us a gentlemanly adieu.
“Have a good night, ladies.” We gave him half-hearted smiles.
“Well, that was fun.”
“You guys wanna go home?”
“Yeah.” The steps we took in our heels left trails of dripping sarcasm.