there is something that intrigues me about bike messengers. i just had a ten minute conversation with one about my inability to ride without falling. this guy- from our new courier service- had a floppy earlobe (sans spacer), a tic-tac-toe board tattooed on one leg, a mullet/mohawk, and he smelled like sweat, but the fact that he is carrying a 30-pound box plus a boom box on a little bike in traffic-filled streets is strangely attractive.maybe tonight when he goes to his underground bike messenger lair to speak bike messenger toungue and chant bike messenger chants with his bike messenger bretheren, he will think of that little cubicle chicky he met today, and he will be intrigued too. um, i doubt it.
4 comments:
number 45?
i don't know! how do you know!
Oh God, don't even get me started. I dream of the day I bring one home just to see the look on my father's face.
One blew a snot rocket at my feet on Monday ... which I totally consider a romantic overture.
HOT (and I refuse to spell it "HAWT", as the kids are doing these days).
In case father disappointment is on your to do list this month: Rocky IV, I Must Break you.
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