by Sarah Daly
Sorry I’m late, but you’ve got to hear this. So this guy in a black suit runs down the street, dressed like a freakin’ Monopoly man—you know, with the glass over his eye, and the hat, and the cane. I’m trying to get a cab, but traffic’s wild this time of day. Anyway, I finally get one and this guy, he cuts in front of me, jumps inside, slams the door in my face, and shouts out the window, “Sorry, the bank’s waiting.”
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