Member-only story
Think I’ll Pack it in and Buy a Pickup, Take it Down to L.A.
Big boob blues
Dodi’s face is as wrinkled as that dollar bill the soda machine keeps spitting back out at you but her legs are slim and long and she has alluring feet with painted toenails like pink Tums. She has a detonation of naturally blond foliage on her head, unruly enough to camouflage her face.
Her hair goes well with her fake boobs which, 15 years ago, were her 34th birthday present to herself. Dodi once went to the 4 Corners up in Utah and she stood in Utah but her boobs were in the other 3 states.
She sits behind the wheel of her taxi cab in the Wildcat gas station parking lot outside the University of Arizona, wondering how she ended up there. I drive up in my taxi and park next to her. She’s got her sunglasses on against the desert August blast of 4 p.m. I roll down my window.
“What’s cookin’ good lookin’?” I say.
“Same old shit,” she says. “You ever think about going to college?”
“I thought about it.”
“We’re better than this, Matt,” she says. “What are we doing with our lives?”
