maybe all one can do is hope to end up with the right regrets. -arthur miller


Night of Gross

I proclaimed tonight the "Night of Gross" while in the midst of a quasi-hysterical fit about an hour ago. I'll tell the end of the story but not the rest, because frankly it's the only part that involves road head, which eclipses whatever else might have happened.

So I'm walking home with Crazybrains from sitting on a stoop outside Nanno's building. We're half a block from leaving Nanno, on York Avenue in the 70's. We start crossing the street, but are cut off by a white Lincoln Towncar that inside had a red interior and, most importantly, a fantastically obese woman whose head was firmly in the driver's lap. Face. Down.

Thus the aforementioned quasi-hysterical fit, wherein CB and I try to get the image of a gross, old, livery cab driver getting a blowjob from his plus-size...wife? Girlfriend? Passenger looking for a fare break?



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