Scene: My daughter and I
encounter four teens sitting on the sidewalk outside Pizza My Heart in downtown
Santa Cruz. One of them asks if I can spare some money so they can get some
pizza. I say, “Sorry, no.” They say, “’s cool.”
What I should have said: “Blackjack!
Keno! Bingo! Craps! Jeez! I haven’t seen you guys since the casino caper!
Listen, I am so sorry for bailing on you guys, but when I saw you had grabbed
those boxes of Mexican fireworks instead of the plastique, I knew the Baroness
was going to go berserk, so it was every man for himself. Anyway, looks like
you all managed okay, though I see Solitaire’s not with you. I wouldn’t worry
though. I’ve known her since third grade and I have yet to see that chick not
land on her feet. She’s fine wherever she is. By the way, this is my daughter.
She’s totally really my daughter and not a shape-changing alien nano-collective
life form.
(I glance up the street at some
other pedestrians.)
Uh-oh! Looks like a couple
Enforcers. Just play dumb; if you pretend not to see them, they’ll probably
ignore you. We’ll just duck in here and sneak out the back. Come on Z-03. I
mean, um, Zoe.”
