Semi Fiction

Walking up the street I saw the license plate frame first. “Paramount Gentlemen’s Club,” it read.

“Because looking at ladies in sparkly underpants and paying them to grind into your lap is ever so gentlemanly,” it didn’t read.

I noted the cream colour of the vehicle, its sleekness and its tinted rear windows. As I walked alongside, I saw through the open sunroof; a man, his back half in the back seat, his belly in the front nestled against the steering wheel. He lounged with one hand at rest on his crotch, the other on his cell phone. With the briefest of glances I took him in, rotated him through my brain and spit him out again.

“Yuck,” I said. I even shivered a little.

An old man was walking toward me on the sidewalk and shifted his body slightly so that we could pass each other. He nodded at my smile.

“Thank you,” I said. “Now that is a gentleman,” I thought.

I heard the thud of a car door closing behind me and looked over my shoulder to see the old man seating himself in the passenger seat of the cream coloured car.

“Ready to roll Pops?” said the driver.
“Let’s head back to the Club,” said the old man.

I turned away and kept walking home.