Hitch a Ride
“Nah, go have fun with the group. Please, say hello for me, and make my apologies to those who might care, okay?” I embraced him with a hug, pausing for a moment to reflect the strength of his muscles, “I’ll see you around soon, and take care until then.”
“Until next time,” he pulled away with a loving smile. “Just stay strong and make the best of what you can; I have faith you’ll be okay. Thanks for jamming front row to Crowbar and showing support.”
“No problem, it was my pleasure.” I wanted to stay longer, to socialize with anyone around, but I as I watched Patrick run to meet his friends, I realized most everyone had already left. With a deep breath, my feet began to walk down the road.
“You better be walking to your car, because I’m sure not going to let a pretty gal like you walk the streets of New Orleans alone,” a voice called from close behind. “You never know what’s lurking in the shadows of this city, so I just want you to be safe. I swear, I’m not trying anything funny.”
My head tilted to see a man I had chatted with earlier in the evening. “Tim, right?” He nodded a confirmation, and I answered, “it’s really not that far of a walk to the trolley.”
“I will not have you take a trolley at this hour of the evening. Where do you live? I’ll give you a ride in a Mustang that’s got a tad more style than the public transportation.”
“That’s very kind of you, but I live in Mid-City. Really, I live right down from the trolley stop. It’s really not a problem.”
“I won’t take no for an answer,” he insisted. “You wouldn’t really want to ride in a trolley over a cherry red Mustang, now would you? I have a classic muscle car.”
“Well,” I hesitated in a teasing manner, “if you really don’t think it’d be too much of a problem. I guess you’re right, a Mustang is better than a trolley. I’d love a ride.”
“And I’d be honored to give you one,” he gestured in the direction of his vehicle. “As long as you don’t mind riding shotgun while my friend sits in the back, I have a joint to smoke if you’d like. They don’t necessarily allow you to do that on a trolley, that much I know.”
“Sweet,” I smiled, “that’s very sweet of you. You’re friend can sit up front though. I really don’t mind.”
“No way,” he chuckled, “it’s my car. I’d rather have a gorgeous blonde sitting next to me than some guy I get to see everyday. We live on the North Shore, so we can make Mid-City a stop as we head out to that area, in a round-about way.”
“I was always told there ain’t no joy like a North Shore boy;” pleasant chatting boosted my mood, as I explained my art on the way home to them. For once, they seemed honestly intrigued by my way of life, even though theirs was not much different. Smoking and chatting in more comfort than the wooden seats of a trolley, they guided me safely to my home, being perfect gentlemen.
Simultaneously working two keys in the locks on my door to push it open, I found the kittens waiting for me, eager to be caressed. Their soft fur comforted my hands with delicate texture. On the bed, we fell fast asleep.
IN THE MORNING...
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