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"Write out of love, write out of instinct, write out of reason. But always for money."
Louis Untermeyer


A Deep Thinker

I got out of my truck and stopped in surprise. A woman was standing there. She was gorgeous, a real looker.  She wore tight, hip-hugging jean shorts and a navy blue halter-top that showed off her smooth stomach. I was starting to think this was my lucky day.

“You took my space,” she said.

I blinked. “Excuse me?”

“You can’t park here. It’s my space.”

What in the world… “You mean the parking space?”

“Yes. It’s. My. Space.”

My luck seemed to be turning sour. Typical. “Why’s that?”

In reply, she reached into her pocket and brought out a syringe. “This.”

I stepped back. “What’s in there?”

“Wouldn’t you like to know? If you don’t get out of my space, I’ll inject you.” She stepped closer.

I moved back but bumped into my truck. “Listen, lady, this is a public parking lot. You have no right to tell me where I can or can’t park.”

She waved the needle and took another step forward. She was now within arm’s reach. “Move your vehicle now, or I stick you.”

“I’m not afraid of needles. Go ahead and stick me.” Time to call her bluff. This was a real pity, though. All those looks, and nothing upstairs. She was normally the type I went for.

She smiled. “Are you sure? I’ve got my own, HIV-tainted blood in here.”

Without another word, I got into my truck and drove out of there. Sure, she was probably lying, and crazy to boot, but why take a chance?

I’m no idiot.

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