Mission Romance, With Joe The Plumber

(At a dark intersection, far away, in southeast Sacramento)

M.: How did it go?

J.: (carrying large box back to car) She didn't want it. She's too medicated to accept it. There are other people at the house, too. I don't know who they are. It's a really beautiful carousel too. It's the last thing of value I really have. It's worth $500.

M.: I've seen similar carousels on the Internet for $50.

J.: It's worth $500 and she didn't even care.

M.: All women are like that.

J.: She never takes my feelings into account, the clothes she wears.

M.: She's not obliged to you with respect to her clothes.

J.: People are such hypocrites with their Bible. I know I'm right. The Atlanteans were here first.

M.: Was that a pistol I saw you flash back at the van?

J.: No, that's a pellet gun. Remember?

M.: Oh, yeah. It looks like a pistol, though. I once nearly shot my mother in the eye with a BB gun. Fired at a dishwashing soap bottle, and the BB bounced back and hit her on her lower eyelid.

J.: Wow! I wish I had fired at the girl bike thieves yesterday. They were blondes. Laughing blondes. Bastard white people. First they take our land then they take our bikes. Worthless people. I'm going to have to walk to Senior Gleaners tomorrow so I can eat. It's, like, six miles. No jobs, either. The motel owner asked my bid to trim six palm trees. I said $500. It's worth $2,000, but sure enough, he hired a Cuban to do it for $200.

(pulling into motel parking lot near the decrepit van with Bella, the Labrador Retriever, waiting inside)

J.: Let's look at the palm trees. Ha! The Cuban just finished one. They're just getting what they deserved. Serves them all right.

{Voicemail Update this evening:

J.: She called back. She said she really appreciated the gesture.}