This morning I saw a lovely gentleman, driving a Bentley, drop off his daughter at school. I can just imagine the conversation this morning.
"Good morning, Sissy."
"Good morning, father."
"Should we take the Bentley this morning? he says.
"That sounds lovely father, should we call someone to bring it out front for us?"
"Of course dear, now gather your things. It's time to go to school."
So after this conversation ended. (The one inside my head.) Another one started.
I'm still in the car on my way to work. I am now on Marina Blvd., near the San Francisco marina, when I see a big honkin' silver Mercedes next to me. In the back seat is a dapper looking older gentleman. Expensive suit, silver hair, starched white shirt. He's talking to the person driving. The person driving is a middle-aged hispanic woman sitting so close to the steering wheel that it seems to be attached to her. She's actively talking to the man in the back seat. He is all relaxed in back, in the corner, legs crossed, arm up on the side, like he's sitting on a couch.
WHO is SHE? And WHO is HE? Mr., I-don't-have-to-wear-a-seat-belt-and-please-drive-me-somewhere-very-important-this-morning. If only I were a fly!
When we lived in New York and Connecticut you would see people getting limo'd around all the time. The standard limo vehicle is a black town car. The driver always wore a black suit, starched shirt and tie. You just don't see that kind of thing around here. It's a New York thing I guess.
All right. That's enough. I need to get to working.