God Didn’t Get Me No Meth
Me and Little John were sitting at the Greyhound bus station behind the wheels of our taxi cabs. We were toward the end of the cab queue. It was a depressing place to be, number 9 or 10 in the bus station cab queue, at 4 in the afternoon, in Tucson, Arizona, July, 2010. We were both sweating our balls off.
I stared unrepentantly at a hot Latina walking by herself toward the bus station doors. She had a suitcase and a yellow flower in her hair. I was sorry she was leaving and hoped she would return soon. Even though you know she will never be yours, sometimes just looking at a beautiful woman makes you feel like everything will be all right.
Little John was on his cell phone. His 7 teeth flashed in the sun.
“Hey, Donny,” he said into the phone. “What’s up? Where you been?”
He looked at me through our open windows and gave me the thumbs up.
“What?” he said. “No, no, man…Hey, is Jay there?… Where is he?…Don’t fuck around man, I’m completely out…Wat?…No, hey, you know me, man, I can’t live like this. Donny? Donny? Hello?”
