I bypass the pick up spot by half a block (GPS mishap, naturally), so I call her to see if she wants me to back up or can she walk up. “Don’t even botha, she yells, I see yeah, I am coming, can you see me?” I look back and notice a spherical shape in a floral print, balanced on boudoir mules, approaching with impressively chipper leaps. A life-affiriming sight on the backdrop of indifferent gray warehouses and peeling billboards characteristic of the area. The streets are otherwise empty of anything but delivery trucks resting till Monday.
What a day, she says, after collapsing in the front seat, what a day. I been having SUCH a good time. I am puzzled at where did she come from, but the smell of liquor and fruity perfume seem to support her statement. Perhaps there is a hidden bar somewhere? Naturally I encourage her to elaborate on the nature of the fun, but she she remains somewhat vague: “Broke up with a boyfriend while back, se I am on a rebound. And you know what they say about rebounding, it only works in immersion.” Now I had no idea that was what they say, and I would like to know more, but, by then we were making a bank stop—my intrepid passenger was in need of cash to further, I suppose, the rebound process.
We negotiate the tough security at the Bayview bank branch—as it turns out in that area they don’t really want you to linger right up front with an (apparently) getaway car with the engine running. The security wants you to “move on, ma’m”. So I park btw the two lowriders and let the woofers rock me into oblivion. She returns in a period of time that would be sufficient to open couple of Swiss accounts with a handbag of stolen nuggets.
We drive barely 4 blocks to a tiny bar nestled btw a warehouse and a warehouse. In spite of the briefness of the trip, she manages shares few tidbits of her philosophy of waitressing, her profession. It’s all about love, apparently.
She tips like a person with solid concept of tipping. The place looks deserted, but as she opens the door I can see the music is loud, the light is down, sin is on. It’s 11am—Who knew?