10-10-04 - 9:51 p.m.
after work, a mini-van the color of linda blair's vomit was waiting behind my car. inside was mel, the bad bald biker of tire lube express, and he was wearing a pork pie golf hat, identical to one i own.
taxi? he asked, and yes indeed, the ugly green van was one of his old taxis, complete with a meter on the dashboard. after a brief discussion on famous celluloid taxi drivers- deniro vs devito- he followed me home for one of five sodas i owe him after losing a bet we made in the breakroom at work. after bumming several cigarettes from spencer and spinning berrie's head with snippets of song and verse, he admired the stars above chez sage, kissed my horse, and then kissed me.
i expected to hate it, but i didn't.
this is wholesome, he said. this is good.
he proceeded to tell me about a wife in sacramento, his third, a woman he cares for but can't live with, a woman with ties to his heart.
i'm in limbo, you see, he said. you smile at me in the breakroom, and my god, i want you, but i'm in limbo.
all this while i'm standing there, still floored by the effect of his kiss. i really expected to hate it, but i didn't.