I pick up this girl Julia in my car, and I’m doing 90 on Lincoln Avenue, you know, batting mailboxes. I’m just shaking cause I’m so nervous about our date, and she’s just screaming her head off, probably because she’s so excited but also maybe a little nervous too. 

 

But I don’t have my driver’s license anymore — I was responsible for a massive car crash that killed 7 people and their children, and I forgot my license at the hospital afterwards. So anyway, I crash the car with Julia in it as sort of an artistic homage to that crash. “Phew, that was a close one,” I think when I see both my legs close to being completely separated from my body. 

 

Now Julia’s screaming that we need to go to the hospital, because that’s where our date was planned; I wanted to pick up my license, and more importantly, Julia loves the food they serve at the hospital food court.

 

I call a cab, which takes us to the nearest train station, and then from there we walk to the hospital. We sit down at Burger King, and some guy catcalls Julia. That guy finds my fist coming straight at his face, motioning in sign language how that was pretty messed up. Then I kick him in the shin. Turns out he isn’t deaf, but instead has a black belt in taekwondo, which he pulls out and shows me before the three of us enjoy a peaceful meal together.

 

On the walk home, I look deep into Julia’s eyes, and I see her pupils dilating from her concussion. I get my smoochers ready, and Julia starts to lean in, but then she whispers, “I’m gay.” Bummer. “As in, like, I’m really happy right now.” Phew! “As in, like, I’m really happy being single. But you know what — let’s just go for it.”

 

Her lips? Moist. Her tongue? It was there, too. Her face? Round in all the right places. Would I kiss her again? Listen pal, I haven’t even stopped.