I don’t want a pickle
Just want to ride on my motorcycle
— the prophet arlo guthrie
All you need to know about Mo: a photo essay.
■ We’re at First Saturday around noon, because we missed First Friday. It’s 130 degrees. As we park, Mo grabs something from the back of the car and sprints away. I see her at the end of the block, giving two bottles of water to a homeless guy who appears to be in a bad way. She’s scared of homeless guys, but does it anyhow. I keep the car doors locked, but eventually let her in.
■ A fly has been constantly pestering us for two days. Mo has stalked it constantly, but it has eluded her while slowly driving her insane. Finally, she catches the culprit in a plastic bag. And promptly releases it outside, because she can’t bear to kill it. I suspect it’s waiting by the door, eager to return in time for tonight’s Hallmark movie.
■ We’re at the SCC gym. A Ducati motorcycle is sitting in the parking lot, far from any other vehicles. Mo is totally smitten (note to self: prepare for emotional trauma when she eventually leaves you for biker dude). She lingers over it, taking photos and mentally undressing it. The owner, a nervous tennis player on the nearby courts, comes sprinting over, racket in the overhand smash position. Mo says she’s not trying to steal it, but he seems uncertain. The cops come and arrest her. No idea if they give her bottled water.
■ She arrives home from physical therapy today after a night in the pokey and calls me because she needs me to unlock the door. She has …….. lost her key and locked herself out of the apartment (yes, this sounds familiar). She then goes to Lowe’s and buys 70 keys. I’m guessing the fly gets one.
And that’s all you need to know about Mo.