Pimp My Lent/Day 24
From pimptress Ellen Vincent Zimmerman, a photo by her husband Steve.
Setting: a subway/metro car.
The SECRETARY enters. She wears a nice suit/skirt with tennis shoes, and carries a purse, lunch bag, shoe bag. She stops. There’s a man directly in front of her. She glances down, then up at his face, and says to him…
For the year. Thirty-seven.
White, black, brown, tan, freckled, speckled, diseased, pierced, tattooed, filthy, deformed, big, medium, small, limp, hard, half-mast, shriveled, curved, angled, bent like a faucet –
(bends forefinger into a “faucet”)
Thirty-seven. For the year. On this very train. To work, from work. Mornings and evenings. An average, so far, of about one and half roughly every two weeks. I don’t count the guy who showed me his knuckle through his fly. I guess there was a story there, but, well, whatever.
Thirty-seven. So you will excuse me if I do not gasp. Or cry out. Go “Oh!” Or even raise an eyebrow. I have, to use a cliché, seen one – seem ‘em all. Oh. Here’s my stop.
Well, um, thanks for the viewing. You can feel secure that you are really just average. Which isn’t a bad thing.
(turns to leave, turns back)
Then again, it does lack…remarkability.
(glances down, smiles sympathetically, looks past the man and his penis, and exits)