his and that goofy big white funnel around his neck. “Okay, okay, Otis, shotgun it is.”
I pump the gas pedal four times, then turn the key. The engine ignites and the massive five-hundred-cubic-inch purrs to a hum.An instant later, vintage music begins blasting from the aftermarket sound system I had installed back when I thought loud music was cool. Blaring out over and over again is the verse “roller coaster of love (Say what)” from the Ohio Players song.
I finally head down the driveway after accepting my CD player is stuck and explaining to Otis we’re going topless because the convertible motor is broken. Before reaching my entry gate I realize I left my lawyer bag in the house. I back up to the garage, where my wife’s in the process of pulling out. There’s not enough room for her to pass so I block her in and get out of the Eldo, leaving it running.
“Move that piece of shit!” Tyler screams. “I’ve got an early tennis practice!”
“One moment, honey. I forgot something.”
“Hurry up!” La Comandante orders as I enter the house.
Before walking back out, I open up the only drawer in my seven-thousand-square-foot home I can call my own and take out one of the cigars stored in a ziplock plastic bag with indelible marker writing that reads: HUMIDOR . I sniff it, cut the butt, stick it in my mouth, then go back out while stuffing the ziplock in the side of my bag.
“Hurry up already!” Tyler growls as I stroll past.
I continue at a pace that will annoy the hell out of her.
“Turn that music down!” she yells as I reach the Eldo. “I can hear it all the way over here. What are you trying to be? Some kind of gangsta?” she screams in a spine-piercing pitch. It has the equivalent effect of what one must feel during a lumbar puncture that accidentally lances a nerve root.
I get in and take a few moments to light my cigar. “Move already!” Tyler calls out her window, honking her horn. I give her the international sign for “I can’t hear you” by pointing to my ears, at the same time exhaling a big puff from my mild and smooth Avo. Yeah, I’m being an ass, but so what? I just realized, after all these years, it’s part of the marital contract and I’m way behind on the deal.
I grab the shift and happen to look up before changing gears. I see the Eldo reflecting off the glossy finish of her fancy Benz. Her side panel is acting like a mirror, and it’s one of those rare times whereone’s given the chance to take a momentary and unintended visual inventory.
I can clearly see the reflection of my license plate, which reads: SILVRADO . I see that massive Eldorado chrome bumper and distinctive front grille. I see the signature crest-and-wreath hood ornament and the superlong silver-colored hood with its custom black double pinstriping. Behind the windshield and steering wheel I see some balding asshole smoking a big stogie next to a funky black dog in need of a haircut with a large white funnel around its neck, evidencing a recent visit to an overpriced vet.
Some guys look cool smoking cigars and some guys look like they’re trying to look cool. I’m the latter.
At least I admit it.
Think Humpty Dumpty
As I drive across the Brooklyn Bridge I accept “roller coaster of love” will forever be etched in my mind. It was catchy when I turned out of my driveway, but after two thousand verse repeats …
I come straight off the bridge onto Adams Street, taking the long way to my destination because I insist on passing Brooklyn Law School, my alma mater. A half mile later, I’m the first car stopped at the red light at the corner of Joralemon Street with the Supreme Court to my right and BLS in front of me. I’m next to the curb and on the sidewalk are three attractive law students carrying those red law books. The girl with the curves heads over so I put the passenger window down, thinking how early spring is my favorite time of year to admire women as they transition their
I pump the gas pedal four times, then turn the key. The engine ignites and the massive five-hundred-cubic-inch purrs to a hum.An instant later, vintage music begins blasting from the aftermarket sound system I had installed back when I thought loud music was cool. Blaring out over and over again is the verse “roller coaster of love (Say what)” from the Ohio Players song.
I finally head down the driveway after accepting my CD player is stuck and explaining to Otis we’re going topless because the convertible motor is broken. Before reaching my entry gate I realize I left my lawyer bag in the house. I back up to the garage, where my wife’s in the process of pulling out. There’s not enough room for her to pass so I block her in and get out of the Eldo, leaving it running.
“Move that piece of shit!” Tyler screams. “I’ve got an early tennis practice!”
“One moment, honey. I forgot something.”
“Hurry up!” La Comandante orders as I enter the house.
Before walking back out, I open up the only drawer in my seven-thousand-square-foot home I can call my own and take out one of the cigars stored in a ziplock plastic bag with indelible marker writing that reads: HUMIDOR . I sniff it, cut the butt, stick it in my mouth, then go back out while stuffing the ziplock in the side of my bag.
“Hurry up already!” Tyler growls as I stroll past.
I continue at a pace that will annoy the hell out of her.
“Turn that music down!” she yells as I reach the Eldo. “I can hear it all the way over here. What are you trying to be? Some kind of gangsta?” she screams in a spine-piercing pitch. It has the equivalent effect of what one must feel during a lumbar puncture that accidentally lances a nerve root.
I get in and take a few moments to light my cigar. “Move already!” Tyler calls out her window, honking her horn. I give her the international sign for “I can’t hear you” by pointing to my ears, at the same time exhaling a big puff from my mild and smooth Avo. Yeah, I’m being an ass, but so what? I just realized, after all these years, it’s part of the marital contract and I’m way behind on the deal.
I grab the shift and happen to look up before changing gears. I see the Eldo reflecting off the glossy finish of her fancy Benz. Her side panel is acting like a mirror, and it’s one of those rare times whereone’s given the chance to take a momentary and unintended visual inventory.
I can clearly see the reflection of my license plate, which reads: SILVRADO . I see that massive Eldorado chrome bumper and distinctive front grille. I see the signature crest-and-wreath hood ornament and the superlong silver-colored hood with its custom black double pinstriping. Behind the windshield and steering wheel I see some balding asshole smoking a big stogie next to a funky black dog in need of a haircut with a large white funnel around its neck, evidencing a recent visit to an overpriced vet.
Some guys look cool smoking cigars and some guys look like they’re trying to look cool. I’m the latter.
At least I admit it.
Think Humpty Dumpty
As I drive across the Brooklyn Bridge I accept “roller coaster of love” will forever be etched in my mind. It was catchy when I turned out of my driveway, but after two thousand verse repeats …
I come straight off the bridge onto Adams Street, taking the long way to my destination because I insist on passing Brooklyn Law School, my alma mater. A half mile later, I’m the first car stopped at the red light at the corner of Joralemon Street with the Supreme Court to my right and BLS in front of me. I’m next to the curb and on the sidewalk are three attractive law students carrying those red law books. The girl with the curves heads over so I put the passenger window down, thinking how early spring is my favorite time of year to admire women as they transition their
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