Setting down in Harm City, my eye, which had been clear for ten days at altitude, was popping like the Devil himself had once again taken up residency there. The jet engine, that had stopped so gracefully in Salt Lake City the week before, was groaning, dipping and spewing as the 737 rumbled to a hard stop in 100% humidity. As I offloaded, I knew, in the dark place that might be called a heart, beneath the opaque field of my sardonic reserve, behind the nighted curtain of my sarcastic mask, that abject sleaze, mob violence, deviant aggression, and queer obsession, with all the black demons of Baltimore dancing their twerking jig and the succubus mayor plying her gig, would all be in session…

Enter Uber Joe:

“It’s been a ridiculous week! I made a pickup in downtown Belair, in Harford County, on Mainstreet, and while my fare got in these two petite black girls were going at it: no scratching, slapping, pushing or hair pulling, but a full-on man-fight, punches, kicks, slams—against the parked car in front of me. These wenches were tearing it up—blood flying, punches thudding, and I was gone!

Good God!

And my fare was these two, attractive, young white women [Hello, Joe, obviously the sexual property that the BT-1100s were battling for!] get in the back seat and immediately start going at it, feeling each other up, kissing, sucking face. I’m trying to drive here, make a few dollars, get home to my wife alive, not end up getting pasted on the grill of a truck because of some shameful distraction. Besides I’m a Christian man. Of course, as a Christian, the next fare really got to me.

I’m down in Canton [Boomy of post-apocalyptic CSA fame, drives this route in a cab], dropping off a fare. It’s the yuppie zone, well-dressed white people stumbling down the street so drunk that they’re in permanent lean mode. I get a fare from the next bar down, right there [business name redacted] and this guy gets in and just says, ‘Get me the hell out of here, just go.’

I never had this before, like a movie where Bogart gets in says ‘Follow that car.’

So I ask the fellow, ‘While we are cruising around, figuring out where we’re going to land, do you mind telling me what the problem is?’

I was soon sorry I asked. He begins telling me how he met this really cute—really hot—woman at the bar and that she offered to do him—orally—in the men’s room. Then, about halfway through the process, the girl says, this might not be the most appropriate time to mention this, but I’m a man!

Ahhhhggg! I didn’t think I could go blind listening to people, but I almost lost it.

[The concerned author, politely inquires as to whether or not Uber Joe did a Sirius search on his satellite music feed and pulled up the Kinks’ song Lola.]

After some laughter, including a Lou Reed recommendation, Uber Joe gave me the good news that an employment agency has set him up with an interview at the Edgewater Armory for a job which will favor his military veteran status.