[ WP ] You know the random driver in every action movie where the hero jumps in and orders to `` follow that car ! '' . Yup , that 's you . Every single time you 're trying to get anywhere .

Motherfucker. Not again. 
 
 I guess I should explain. Great-gramps apparently had it, but I never heard much about him. Some kind of rumour about the Russian royalty and a scandal, but nothing definite. Gramps had it, and it was bad, during the war. Nazis and shit. Dad had it too, and in the seventies it almost got him killed, more than once. But the stories he told, and the seventies being the tail end of free love and burn the bras, well, it coulda been worse. I guess. Shit, those Daisy Duke shorts and all. Man, I could deal with that. The women never get it, just the men. Christ on a stick, for all the bitching they do and they never once have to deal with this kind of crap. Nobody knows when it started for us, but from what I can piece together, it's been a long, long time. 
 
 Dad calls them the freeloaders, and I guess that's about as good a name as any. Always winds up costing me, and I do n't get shit out of it. Gas money, repairs - and you think I can get insurance anymore? Not my fault, but those bastards just do n't know how to deal with this. Too much out-of-the-box thinking for them, I guess. Been through six windshields in the past two years. And if I have to talk to that fat-ass detective from central one more time, and listen to him chew me out for some bullshit, I swear to God. 
 
 But you get used to it. You have to. There's a sort of helplessness you feel, and you just have to accept it. I've been meditating for a couple years now, and it helps me to accept the world for what it is. Not that it's all sunshine and roses, but it takes the edge off. 
 
 She actually cracked my window with the baby bottle. I did n't know they still made the glass ones - I just assumed they were all plastic these days. So right away I pegged her as either rich, or one of these organic BPA-free bitches who are always posting on Facebook about some environmental scandal or some crap. Interspersed with non-stop picture of their vegan, antibiotic-free quinoa burgers. I rolled my eyes. Rich I could work with. Vegan, well, I slept with a vegan girl once, and she was high maintenance. I mean severely high, get me the hell out of here, high maintenance. The fuck was hardly worth it, but at least she was flexible. All that yoga. And shaved clean as a baby. Oh yeah. But I digress. 
 
 I had to stop anyway, since her idiot friend was right in front of me, flailing her arms around, shouting `` Stop!!!''. As much as I wanted to pretend the brakes were a little soft, and I could n't avoid it, a little part of me knew I should stop. I'm in the habit of getting the car serviced right ready these days. Part of accepting the whole deal. Top running order. It's nothing special, just a piece of shit Mazda, and more than a few years old. But you think I want to be racing down Yonge Street with a cracked-out stripper in the back seat, shouting at me in Romanian while brandishing a Glock, and having the engine misfiring and rev-maxing again? Fuck that shit nine ways to Sunday. 
 
 So I hit the brakes, and with a sigh, hit the door locks open. The bitch jumps in the back seat. I kind of twist around to check out her ass, and she's surprisingly skinny for someone carrying a baby bottle. Tight little red flannelly shorts. I could work with those legs. She yells at her friend to get in, and grabs my shoulder. `` Follow that cab! He's got my baby!''
