I dial my smoking buddy/colleague.
"(Jumbled language) outside to have a fag?" I try to say.
"Are you drunk over there?" he asks.
"No, no, just talking quietly," I say, but the language exits my mouth tangled yet again.
"Sounds like you had some problems with that one too."
"You want to go outside soon?" I ask, more clearly this time.
"Yeah, I'll go out there in about five minutes."
"All right. I'll wait for your cue."
Five minutes pass, I see my colleague heading for the door. With haste I rise from my desk chair and in seeing this he veers towards my office.
"Whoa. Just hold on a minute," he says. Then he leans in close. "I've gotta drop a deuce."
I laugh. "Jesus Christ. So I'll be down in five to seven minutes?"
"It's the coffee man," he says. "You know, it a natural, a natural, uh..." and he trails off, waving his hands around in front of him in search for the elusive descriptor.
"Diuretic?" I say.
"Yeah, whatever."
"Whatever."
Manual Transmission
"I Think I found a car for you," my colleague says to a student while we stand outside, smoking. "A nineteen eighty nine Jeep Wagoneer."
"Yeah well, cars cost money, man," the student replies. "How much was it?"
"Three-thousand."
"Well I only have a hundred bucks, and that's gotta last," the student retorts. "Manual or automatic?"
"Manual," my colleague says. "It's a truck."
"Fuck that, I can't do that," the student says. "Gotta have the shift."
"If you want to put your hand on something," my colleague shoots back, "grab your dick."
"Yeah well, cars cost money, man," the student replies. "How much was it?"
"Three-thousand."
"Well I only have a hundred bucks, and that's gotta last," the student retorts. "Manual or automatic?"
"Manual," my colleague says. "It's a truck."
"Fuck that, I can't do that," the student says. "Gotta have the shift."
"If you want to put your hand on something," my colleague shoots back, "grab your dick."
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