VENICE, CA —Saturday. A man 40 years young rolled around the Venice beach boardwalk on a scooter contraption with enough sexual gravity to warp spacetime. His ride consisted of a giant bean bag which dragged on the pavement on either side of a rented electric scooter. He leaned back like a rugged motorcyclist, bumping “I like it when you call me big poppa,” on a boombox held between his legs. He wore neon pants and a thick gold chain around his neck and was followed by a gang of seagulls.
“I like your ride, man,” I told him, hoping to initiate conversation.
“I like my ride too, man, but I don’t care about you. I’m just looking for a bad bitch. Give me some space. You’re polluting my vibes.” Unfortunately, our interview did not last any longer.
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