He says, "Twin Peaks! It's on me!"
And me, a little drunk and a lot tired, I say, "Yeah, cool…"
And then, for about two minutes, I'm slipping into the kind of sleep that you fall into right after you've had drink and sex, but that state lasts as long as it takes the cabbie to make that first unlit, wild turn and then I get a flash of headline in my head: "Young (it's my imagination, dammit!) Poet Missing After Drinks and Sushi."
Immediately following are news clips of my date ducking out from his gated flat through reporters, cameras and accusations; all the while, I — in my newly acquired ghost-state — shout, "Not HIM! NOT him!"
So, you can imagine my relief when we take that final turn and the cabbie is hard pressed to find a parking stall. Yeeessss!
Deep sigh of relief.
As I step back into the cab, I say, "Thank you, that was beeeeautiful!"
And he says, "…just like you…"
Under any other circumstance, that most likely would have been taken sweetly, but having just been abducted up a mountain Hollywood producers framed murder, midgets, and mayhem on, I'd have to say that I'm really just kinda creeped out.