I recently overheard a conversation between two teenage girls on the 504 King Streetcar that caught my interest.
Pretty much any conversation catches my interest so long as it saves me from minding my own business or has nothing to do with gutting eavesdroppers.
I suspected that these two pretty Hoochies were on their way to the Don Jail; see if you come to the same conclusion.
Girl A- I'm tellin' you, I'm afraid of him.
Girl B- Then why are we goin' to see his sorry ass?
Girl A- Girl, you know how it is.
Girl B- Yeah.
Girl A- I just wish that I had more protection at home than a buddah knife.
Girl B- Like what? A gun?
Girl A- Naw. Just a bigger knife. Steak knife, maybe.
The girls went about checking each other's hair and doing some last minute preening before getting off the streetcar at Gerrard--my stop.
I last saw them heading towards the long line winding down the wheelchair ramp at the Don Jail.
I got me thinking about my own security.
I have only a cast iron alligator-shaped nut cracker to defend myself and my own.
I know that my girlfriend's mother has a Christmas Nutcracker soldier that stands five feet tall, and has scary eyes; I may try to conscript his services.