Sepulveda, Sunday afternoon. A blogger we all know is biking to the gym. Up ahead he sees a…potential photo subject…promenading along the sidewalk, a celebration of booty short, thigh tattoo and wedge clogs.
As he reaches for his trusty point and shoot, a utility van cuts to the curb in front of him, interposing between photographer and subject.
The van driver honks at the woman. Two short demanding beeps. Turn your ass around, business is at hand.
She spins on her heel, displeased. She lets him know.
“Yo no soy una puta mierda, mother—–”
The driver is confused. The Woman Presumed To Be a Ho advances angrily on the Man Who Would Be Her John. She slaps the front of his van. He shrugs, looks at her in bewilderment, as though to say, ‘what was I to think?’
“Yo no soy una puta mierda!” And off she clomped.