a day (# 104)

“What’s the occasion, fellas?” I ask the boys who pile into Milo, each sporting straw boater hats, khakis, white buck shoes, pastel button-downs and bowties and clutching a different configuration of packaged alcohol. 

“Derby Day!” They shout in gleeful, slurry unison.

The next four hours are a dizzying, thrilling, lucrative blur, a spinning Tilt-a-Whirl of revelry as I ferry Josh’s, Caleb’s, Rachel’s, and Lauren’s from one “darty” to another.  Twenty rides in all to the same four or five houses all day. Sometimes, the same kids at different times. “Santiago!” they exclaim, asking about the scene on Maple St. or Whitney St. My mock serious reports become a big hit.

Surge pricing. Short rides. Good tips. No puke.

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