Benny decided to leave the car. He’d have to come back early and get it, early as in before the street sweepers came. Not that they ever came right at 8am, but the ticket police sure as heck were timely with their citations. Benny decided to leave the car because he needed to walk off the horrid combination of beer, bourbon, wings with suicide sauce, fries with cheese gravy – the Canadian kid said they had to try it, and then there were the endless pretzels. What a weird word, if he had stuck with Hebrew school he’d probably know the etymology of such a word. Instead all he knew was that everything he’d consumed was a big knot of indigestion churning away in a sea of hops and barley. He needed to keep his feet on the ground. He couldn’t sit in a moving vehicle. Well obviously he couldn’t actually drive, but he couldn’t let someone else drive him either. Especially not a stranger. He imagined getting sick and costing the taxi driver a whole shift’s wages to get the back seat cleaned up. Some poor shmo having to pay for his shameless overindulgence. He felt nausea just thinking about it. So much better to walk. It was a kind of penance.
8 min, 3.9.13; inspired by quote over heard at Crafted on Ossington
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