Insert Chassis Albuquerque: That Point Men Arrive At...

12 October 2017

That Point Men Arrive At...

He was clearly at that age when men would naturally hoot and holler and yell at all the girls and women. Nothing was ever meant by it, hell, I can't explain it, either, and I'm a man.
Girls and women would be rollerblading, walking, talking with friends, listening to their music with headphones, waiting for the bus or their boyfriends or husbands, you know, just breathing, and - spitting at frothing at the mouth at the sight of them - we men would start hooting and yelling manically out the window as we drove past.
Nothing was meant by it, it was just inexplicable rite of passage for a man to reach that point in life where self-disgust was mitigated by age; even wives and girlfriends could join in the shouting and yelling if they wanted because it was harmless and everyone knew nothing had ever come of such display and nor would it ever.
Still, this fucker with the little black gloves braked sharply for a big titted woman jogging on the pavement, then hooted and hollered and whistled out his window at her. I don't know what came over me, I mean I hooted and hollered at her, too, of course, but then, then I'd sped past, swerved in front of him and ran him off the road; he'd veered into a bush.
I think it was those little black gloves that did it for me.
I fled the scene in case there was trouble. Let’s face it, there was bound to be, unless the driver with the little black gloves had something to hide and fled the scene, too...

EXCERPT - "The Sundial Salesman", available on AMAZON