Are you sure you want me to tell you how to get fucked?

I bring my attention upward to take in a visage peppered in pale stubble and dominated by huge smoked lens sunglasses with glossy gold frames. He immediately assumes a slightly greasy smile now that he has gained my attention.

I straighten up, putting a little more distance between us and ask him how I could be of service this afternoon.

"Where's a good place to get laid in this town?"

For you, someplace they're really desperate. Have you tried one of the adult theaters or a swingers club? I think those would probably be your best bet.

"Where would those be?"

Suddenly, I found myself involved in providing directions with as much completeness as my memory could dredge up in the spur-of-the-moment. Still, I was thrilled by his asking and waxing steadily more giddy with every additional word. My mood might have been brighter if he'd entertained even the slightest interest in examining a free local guide to adult oriented businesses. They go through a great deal of effort to include a bloody map so people like me don't have to prop our fucking elbows on the counter and relate things like, "you want to take a left at the free clinic, go a couple miles past the medical waste incinerator, and you can't miss it." But I wanted this wannabe gigilo out of my aggravation range as soon as possible.

Contrary to popular opinion, it is not my job to get people laid. If it was, I'd have been issued a tranquilizer gun and a couple hundred "roofie" darts.