“Hey. Hey, whatcha doin’?” said a stout man with a colorful hat and a dour disposition. Rob didn’t need to be an expert to identify him as a pimp. The pimp scowled at him. “You bein’ a distraction, boy.” He sucked on his teeth. His New Jersey stawk was thick and cloying, like he spoke through a layer of engine oil. “My girls is busy, y’know, ya feel me, boy? They lookin’ for a man. That’s all. They need a date for tonight, and maybe tomorrow night too. Ya feel me, boy? I bet you do.”
“Uh-huh,” Rob said. “Nobody’s taken me up on it, so I don’t think I’ve stolen any of your clients-“
“What’d I just fuckin’ say? Huh? Did I say you was distracting they clients? That ain’t even… They don’t see clients, okay, they are serious ladies, doing serious things… with their boyfriends, understand me? They’s out here looking for boyfriends, and sometimes, they just might find one. Ain’t nothin’ improper goin’ on here. What I accused you of, however, that’s improper — I said you was bein’ distracting. Girls is distracted real easy. It’s them tits, it keeps ’em from gettin’ focused. That’s why men with big chests is dumbasses too, and that’s a fact. I know you ain’t gonna steal none of my girls’s boyfriend. That’s on account of these men don’t cotton to perverts, and my girls know how to satisfy a man. Ya understand me?”
“Uh-huh. I see your point,” Rob said.
From Sailor Armpits
