My beloved works in the classiest part of town. . . if by "classy" I mean "easiest to score crack and ass with ready cash". Where could this Utopia be?
Nowhere else but Sherbourne and Gerrard.
Today on her lunch break, she witnessed a crack whore in her natural habitat (cracked out of her gourd) slowly creep across the street. She paid no mind to the traffic desperately trying to anticipate her intoxicated weaving and darting, and blatantly ignored the red hand urgently flashing away at the corner. A jaywalker on a trip all her own.
A van responsible for getting plumbers from job to job screeched to a halt, and the occupant landed on the horn.
Our little crack whore didn't even flinch.
The horn continued, much in the fashion of Toronto drivers, long and unabated, until our tiny crack whore turned and placidly extended her middle digit to the blower.
As soon as she had staggered just past the centre line on Sherbourne, the van shot past her. As it did, the plumber inside threw a water bottle at the crack whore's head.
The water bottle found its mark.
The crack whore continued to the opposite sidewalk, turned around, and began her protest:
C- "ABCD 12(mumble)GH I got your number down, an' I'm gonna call the cops."
The van was gone.
I doubt they took her threat of prosecution seriously.
Having such deadeye aim must certainly mean this plumber's walls are covered in CNE Midway treasures such as: "Van Halen" and "Bon Jovi" mirrors; pink feathers attached to a roach clip in a semi-Aboriginal manner; Toronto SUN Girls 1992 Calendar (still in the wrapper); and a large Bart Simpson doll. Great talent never goes unrewarded.
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