David and his new girl. He picked one of the
more conservative ones, wifey material.
A few weekends ago (maybe two, maybe five...my memory fails me), my friend David and I went out in search of some breakfast in downtown LA to bring back to our friend's apartment so we could all feast. We drove ourselves somewhere into the Fashion District, I assume, because there were lots of bootylicious headless mannequins lining the sidewalks (refer to picture above). After driving for a few blocks, we decided we were too hungry to continue, and thankfully spotted a taco truck parked alongside one such sidewalk of America's Next Top Mannequins. Three cars down from the truck, there was an open meter spot, but I had no change with me. We decided that we could easily keep an eye on my car since we were only three cars away from the taco truck. I spotted a parking officer on bike writing a ticket for a motorcycle right next to the taco truck, which should have served as an omen and not an okay. I said, "Wonderful, I'll just watch this guy and as soon as he starts making his way down the street, I'll dash to my car and drive it away." So we placed our order and I got an old school coke made with cane sugar, so happy! Then, my spidey senses tingled and I spotted the PO start down the street in the direction of my car, so I immediately started running and quickly passed him...only to find that, upon nearing my car, another PO was biking away from it. Sinking feeling. I slow my pace and walk up to the windshield. Sunk. There's the parking ticket, tucked under my windshield wiper, literally three minutes after I parked my car. The PO I passed on the way rides by me. It's a conspiracy.
Tacos: $20
Parking: $55
Irony: Priceless
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