Archive for the ‘Overheard’ Category

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The best pizza she’s ever had

April 28, 2012

The woman from Sacramento could not contain herself after her first slice.

Sir, she said. This is. The best. Pizza. I have ever had. The crust is perfect, the cheese is perfect, the sauce is perfect.

He offered her more, because when one has such a good customer, one has an obligation to upsell. But she waved him off.

I have two pieces! she said. I can’t eat any more! Breakfast! I could eat on this for days! It is so good. So good.

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Your kind of cool

April 14, 2012

But you’re cool, said the guy in the navy blazer. I’m not cool. I’m not even close to your kind of cool. I’m not even cool enough to compete with your cool.

He took a long drag off his cigarette and looked out from under the overhang at the rain falling on the street.

At least I can hang, he said.

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Please understand

April 10, 2012

The girls on the bus had spent the morning working with their hands, learning words in a silent language. But one seemed not to have absorbed the lesson, and the other kept asking her to re-form words with her fingers, to understand what was passing between their seats.

That’s not how you say please, said the girl with greater understanding. You have to keep your hand above your heart.

She demonstrated the sign, then, to her friend, her right hand circling, the word cutting through the engine’s rumble and the conversation of other passengers. Please. Please. Please.

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Miss Takes

November 26, 2011

“They’re going to light the tree at Jack London Square tonight,” said the man on the free bus. “They’re going to plug it in. It’s a good place to meet girls. I mean, women. Maybe I’ll find Mrs. Right. I mean, Miss Right. I’ve certainly found a lot of Miss Takes.”

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Sorry, Mom

November 8, 2011

The two girls had moved to the bathroom to talk—it was the only place to escape the thump of the bass and the screaming crowd. The one with the nose ring stood closer to the sink. The one with arms that looked painted leaned against the paper towel dispenser until she pulled up one side of her pants to show her friend a new tattoo.

Oh, it was bad when I finally showed her, she said. “Why do you have a goddamn hamburger on your fucking leg?” And I said, “I’m sorry, Mom. I’m sorry.”

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Not messing around

September 16, 2011

Woah. You’ve already met his parents? said the friend over beers in a quiet bar in the city.

We’re not messing around, man, she said. I’ve met his parents; it’s all on Facebook. If you saw it, you’d understand.

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Harley

December 4, 2010

“I don’t believe in marriage,” said the man at the bar. “If you sign that piece of paper and you have a penis, you lose everything. My girlfriend could have anything I have. Anything. Except my Harley. If she touches my Harley, I’ll kill her.”