I was walking on Venice beach boardwalk eating one of those 99 cent slices of pizza, you know the ones that leave grease stains on your hands for a week, and this old man with a pink and orange striped Rasta beanie and a long grey beard comes running into me on one of those foot scooters. It was like he was the six-year-old who isn't looking where he's going and slams right into you, but instead he was 60. And rather than just looking stunned with a chocolate rimmed mouth from a long gone ice cream cone, he starting doing his best impression of a car horn, which was damn good actually and made me jump three feet high. My grip on my pizza was lost, and a passing lucky ass pit bull caught it in mid-air and devoured it in one gulp.
Now, I'm not dumb enough to mess with a pitbull, so I decided to confront the old man to recoup my losses.
"Hey, you owe me a slice of pizza," I said.
He was busy laughing, but managed to hand me a card. As he scootered away I read it:
"Free pass to heaven."
Not a bad trade, really.
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