My Relapse, Part II

So there we were, riding in a van to the big kickboxing bout. It was kind of fun at first. We sang along to the radio and played a few car games. Pat O'Brien led a round of "Who am I?" Whitney Houston figured out he was Billy Bush on the 9th guess. Not too bad.

And you wouldn't think it, but Bobby Brown is a very good driver. I was nervous at first, as his track record doesn't suggest he'd be the world's best driver, but he studiously obeyed all the street signs and light signals.

"You're a good driver," I told him, hoping he wouldn't reply by asking me if I was a homo again.

"Gotta be," he said.

"Yep, road safety is an important thing."

"That and this van is jacked," Bobby Brown said. "Can't risk running a light and getting busted by the 5-0."

"Oh," I said, looking around and suddenly realizing I was in a floral delivery van. There were old stems and petals everywhere.

I asked Pat O'Brien if he knew the van was stolen.

"Yep," he said. "KaBloom!"

"I wish you had told me beforehand," I said.

"What, bro? Can't handle the thug life?" He lifted his shirt as if to reveal a tattoo on his stomach. There wasn't one.

"No," I said.

"Me neither," Pat O'Brien replied.

And then he buried his face in his hands and cried.