I have not had several women, never flew them on jet planes

“You would look so much younger if you went to Jimmy Chung’s Hair Replacement clinic in Olathe at 135th and Quivera, in the shops at Deer Creek Woods.”

“No thanks,” I say. “I’m not bald yet.”

“Yes but your hairline is receding. I find strands and dandruff in the seats every time you leave the car. Yesterday was particularly bad – do you lick it off your head and hack up a ball later? Better to consider it now. You would look so good and all the women in the office would get wet like a May morning. You would swim in them like Scrooge McDuck swims in cash.”

“No thanks,” I say.

“And a tan. You would look good with a tan and white teeth, pearl white. The women in the office would ask what’s your secret?

“I don’t know radio, I should do something about it probably, but I got bigger fish to fry.”

“Have you met any ladies?”

“No comment.”

“Is it just that you’re having a hard time in a big city?”

“No it’s just I haven’t met anybody I want to fuck, or to help pay rent, or to fly around on jets to Myrtle Beach for vacation. There was one, Hannah. She seemed okay, nice ass and all, but we were at the bar and she talked about wanting to get into a fight with this guy in a Chicago Cubs jersey with a goatee. Then she said she owned a gun and we should go to the gun range. Are you going to Montana, radio? If you go, I need to consider buying a new one. You talk about it all the time.”

“No, man. I’m not going. I’m going to stay here. I like the dashboard and I like the suburbs. I like the weather, too. I might go to film school—it’s the future you know. Garrison Keeler is in film now.”


“But you should definitely check out Jimmy Chung’s Hair Replacement clinic in Olathe at 135th and Quivera in the shops at Deer Creek Woods. You’ll carry away women in wagons to your apartment—pile them all up.

“No thanks,” I say. “I’m not bald yet.”

“Better to consider it now before it’s too late man. We’re not far. Just take I-435 to 69 south, get off at the 135th street exit, and take a right. Jimmy Chung’s Hair Replacement clinic is right there in the shops at Deer Creek Woods. You don’t even need a Garmin.”

“I have to go,” I say.

“Well consider it, man. I only look out for you.”

I turn the radio off and park. It’s right; that fucking 1989 Mercury Cougar AM-FM radio with cassette is right. The sun is out.

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