she was a vegetarian. at least i thought she was. then she asked for chicken.

- i want chicken.
- you want what?
- chicken.
- what for?
- err …
- you mean like in a cage? like a pet?
- no. to eat it.

i gasp.

- you eat meat?

she slaps me.

another bizarre conversation i had with this girl (who, coincidentally, was more than a vegetarian. she was a rawtatarian or something like that. she ate her food raw … i think). but she asked me if i wanted a pomegranate.

- you want some of my pomegranate?
- some of your what?
- pomegranate.
- is that like pomme de terre?
- pomme de what?
- it’s french for potato. you’re not offering me your potato, are you?
- no. my pomegranate.
- mmmmm … your pomegranate. so does it taste good?
- does what taste good?
- your hump grenade.
- my what?
- p-p-p-pomegranate. pomegranate. that’s what i meant.
- you’re such a p-p-p-p-pervert.
- sorry.
- f*ck you! i’m offering my fruit and you just have your mind –
- your fruit?
- yes my fruit.
- your fruiiiiiiiiit. you know i like the way you say “pomegranate.” could you say it again? just slowly this time?

she slap me. and leaves.
true story. i think she was from bulgaria or something. one of those places where they sell leg hair extensions for women. wierd european aesthetics.

and then there was yoko. the timid japanese. she sang songs nobody understood. mostly michael jackson and james brown covers, so half the time nobody could really tell the difference. she asked me for a James Brown cd.

- do you have that chaines prowl city?
- not sure where that is, yoko.
- the city. you were listening the other day.
- yoko.
- yes?
- i’m having a difficult time comprehending the contents of your inquiry.
- what?
- where do you want to go?
- nowhere! i just want the city. make copy for me please?
- a copy of a city?
- yes! the chaines prowl creator’s hits
- oooooh … you freaky jap you. you want chains, huh?
- yes! chaines prowl hits. creator’s hits! is fuky
- fuky?
- yes. fuky. *does a james brown “ha!”*
- yoko
- yes?
- tell me how you like it.
- on a city please.
- with everybody watching?
- no! just chaines.
- so you want chains. whips too?
- I WANT CHAINES PROWL CREATOR’S CITY!
- come to papa, baby.

she stab me in the eye with one of those ninja stars, pirouettes at 700rpm, then zooms off, leaving behind her a cloud of dust and my violated eyeball.