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Night Spies

We are at the Redhead Piano Bar.

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A few of us--the girls--were out all evening, and we'd been drinking. We weren't really drunk, but we had been having a good time. We went to go flag a cab, but it was late and there weren't a lot around. We saw one about a block away at a stoplight, and this girlfriend of mine started to flag it down. She got out in the middle of the street, took down her panties, bent over like a pretzel, and mooned the cab. Naturally, the cabdriver slammed on his brakes. I sat in the front and the others sat in the back. I said "Hello," because my girlfriend's behavior kind of embarrassed me, and I looked at the cabdriver's ID and, honest to God, it was a fellow I went to high school with. I went, "John?" and he went, "Marn?" and I said, "Oh, hello, how are you, what are you up to these days?" All the while I was dying. I hadn't seen him since high school and we were never really that friendly. I don't know who was more embarrassed--him because he was driving a cab or me because my girlfriend mooned him. It was probably a five-minute ride but it felt like five hours. I never saw him again, never heard from him again. And no--we didn't get a free cab ride.

--Marna Martin, lounge singer

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