“That your yellow car outside?” she asked.
A perk of today’s gig – parking outside the soundstage. No offsite parking structure bullshit for me.
“Sure is, baby. Wanna ride?”
Maybe today won’t be a bust after all. But her smile evaporated faster than a finger of bourbon in a lowball glass.
“Fat chance, old man” she said. “Just wanted to know if it’s electric.”
“It’s a ‘76 Corvette Stingray.”
“Guessing that’s a no,” she said, handing me a parking stub. “We only validate for scooters and electric vehicles.”
I reached for my wallet.
“That’ll be 45.”
Kids today, no fucking respect.
The Weekday One Hundred 