Trying to find the girl that threw up in my cab this weekend. You: Short, blunt blonde hair and black jumpsuit. Picked you up in front of Macaroni Grill where you were yelling "I want a divorce!" to someone inside. You flagged me from the curb and ran up to the passenger seat. After you climbed in you started crying hysterically and then you admitted you were on mushrooms. I drove in circles for almost an hour as you tried to reach someone on your contacts that knew your physical address. Than you threw up and it smelled like Pasta Primavera and skittles. While you were throwing up you were attempting to roll down the window and it hit the side of my face like pancake batter. You tried to dab it off with the side of your purse, but contents were spilling out and what must have been a whole sack of pennies spilled all over the puke. I ended up dropping you at the front of the hospital where you approached the desk and demanded they "Stop the mushrooms...immediately!"
Anyway, are you divorced yet?
A writer living in Portland, OR looking to meet Chuck Palahniuk. Single mom to 2 boys, sales agent and lawyer-in-training.