My favorite quote of the night is from an old hippie.
“Not to brag,” he wheezes, “But I knew the guy who put the Easy Rider soundtrack together.”
He’s thrilled that I know who Dave Mason is. He thinks it’s because I’m cool. But it’s really because I frequently had sex with people twice my age as a teenager.
“Hey,” he leans over as I turn onto Macadam, pulling out an iPod and tapping the faceplate, “Did you know I can listen to the Dead on this thing?”
Yeah, well I guess that’s one option.
Next, I take a blood delivery run.
Radiocab contracts with the Red Cross to deliver blood to hospitals. I had no idea. So far it seems like people who work nights in a lab are a lot like cabbies, silent or friendly in a ‘I’ve-been-drinking-Red Bull-and-feel-like-singing-karaoke-now’ kind of way.
I load the boxes of blood. I’m afraid of getting lost on my way to Providence Milwaukie Hospital.
“It’s by the Milwaukee Bowl,” a cabbie told me.
I’m imagining a Pho place with a plastic Cash-and Carry bowl the size of a satellite dish out front, like the old Sandy Jug, only filled vets and Southeast Asians instead of strippers and meth merchants.
“You know, by that pizza place,” the cabbie says.
“Who serves pizza in a bowl?”
It’s empty on 99 and keep wondering, if I’m in a car crash, how will they type my blood?