March 05, 2007
Ex con love (Or, Scenes from a Starbucks)
Last night . . . .
I'm sitting in the Starbucks in Paso Robles, listening to an empty-headed, giggling, simpering excuse of a young woman, tell the ex-con scamming on her from the neighboring table that his "prison tatoos are really neat!"
"Gosh! What makes prison tattoos different?"
"That one's cool!"
"What was it like in Atascadero?"
The rat-like ex-con is wearing a white t-shirt, baggy, knee-length shorts, black Vans and ankle socks. His head was shaved recently, and the dark hair has started growing back, a five o'clock shadow covering his head -- but not completely masking the tats on his dome. Did I mention his wispy, shadow of a moustache?
He's sporting a variety of ugly, crude-looking tats, from the back of his skinny calves, to his thin arms, over the backs of his hands, onto his knuckles, and rising to some spooky spiderwebs (ooooo, spiderwebs!) on his elbows.
He is every father's nightmare, and the woman who is seemingly mesmerized by this turd on stilts is unbelievably stupid, vapid, irritating, and making me rethink the idea of ever having kids; she'd break her father's heart, if he could see his little girl flirting with this sociological missing link.
Zippy's sipping on a fruity, pink iced-drink, through a slim green straw, now standing to raise his shirt and show his appreciative audience the tats on his stomach -- thankfully hidden from view, as I'm sitting near the windows, away from the swinging singles.
Oh, it gets better. Brain-damaged Betty's girlfriend shows up, small child in tow, and they meet her new friend, the little girl politely shaking his claw hand.
Now they're showing each other photos on their cell phones.
Ack.
I'm outta here.
Posted by Mike Lief at March 5, 2007 04:44 PM
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