I checked-in at the front desk. She was this annoying-looking woman, who looked annoyed with me, before I opened my mouth. She wore glasses. The kind that says “I’m smart”—or at least, “I’m smarter than you.”

“Drake, reporting for service, mam.”

“This isn’t the military, Southy.”

“This isn’t Boston, bitch.”

“You would be wise to maintain your previous professionalism.”

“Or what?”

“I use this pepper-spray on rude men in the parking lot. All a woman has to do is spray these days, and she’s justified.”

“Why?”

“You don’t know why? Obviously, you haven’t been educated, or taken a women’s studies class.”

“Oh—I know everything there is to know about women. Trust me—experience counts on this subject, and not the classroom. First, you have to show her who’s boss. You do this by…”

The skunk started to kick-up her high heels. That was the sign to get out of there. “Security!”

“I signed in!” I yelled to Malcom, while running across the parking lot. “And by the way—my name’s Colton Drake Busby, but you can call me by my middle name.”

“Fair enough—you should’ve gotten a job driving limousines. Get in! We’ve got a new medical intern in the back. Take a peek.”

I looked back there. She was wearing tight black pants, squatting over a gurney, revealing a heart-shaped ring, with blue tassel tied-off to her G-string.

“God—I love this job!”