VII. CHRISTMAS DINNER WITH DA KINE
OR WAS IT WITHOUT DA KINE?
HOLLY & KRIS GO TO TURKEY
In Which A Pretty Young Whore Makes Christmas Dinner, But Just Barely
(Part Seven; Part One is HERE.)
Kris turned to leave the restaurant. Holly had ditched him. The waitress had stolen his money. There wasn't going to be any Christmas dinner. Christmas was over, canceled, kaput, finis.
Just then, Holly came clacking in on her high heels. She was soaking wet. It was pouring rain outside.
"Where were you, man? I looked all over for you! I got soaked!"
"Sorry. I was sitting here the whole time. I didn't see you."
"Well, I didn't see you, either. I'm starving! What's for dinner?"
"Anything your tiny little heart desires. Waitress?"
"Oh. You are back?"
"Evidently. Put that ten toward our tab. And bring us two New York steaks, medium rare, the full dinner."
"Wait, wait. I don't eat meat. Just fish and chicken. And pork, sometimes. But no beef. Except McDonald's. Or Burger King."
"OK, so what do you want?"
"Do they have turkey? We always had turkey on Christmas."
"Do you have turkey, Miss?"
"Oh, yes. Hot turkey sandwich."
"No turkey dinners?"
"No more, da kine."
"Da kine? OK. bring us two small dinner salads, and two hot turkey sandwiches, with all the trimmings."
"NO trimmings, sir. Only da kine."
"Da kine again. OK, da kine."
"Da kine for me, too."
"OK, two da kine."
The waitress wrote this down on her pad of checks, and went off to get the food and drinks.
"Hopefully, we'll get something."
"We're getting da kine."
"Yeah. I heard that. What the Hell is da kine?"
"You don't know what da kine is? You f**king haole, you," she laughed.
"Da kine is, like, whatevahs. Whatchyamacallit. Whoosits, like my granny used to say, way back in da 90's. It's what you say when you can't think of a word, or when the other person already knows what you mean. Or when you don't want somebody else to know what you're talking about."
"But I have no idea what she means."
"She means it's just the sandwich, not a dinner. Jeez. How long you been here, brah?"
"Too long. And not long enough."
"HAHA! You funny! Eh, tanks fah da grinds, yeah?"
"You going all "Local" on me, now?"
"Gotta be Local, this close to Chinatown."
"Yeah. We shouldn't be here."
"I gotta go back there, you know."
"That's where I stay."
"You can stay with me."
"What I'm gonna do for money?"
"You don't need money. I'll pay for the food and rent."
"And the crack?"
"No. No more crack."
"Easy for you to say. I gotta have it."
"It makes me crazy if I don't have it."
"So, otherwise, you're normal?"
"Shut up! Don't make fun of me." She laughed just like a little girl.
"Sorry. Look, you need to stop this sh*t, OK? In a few more years, you'll be a sick old hag, and nobody will want you. You'll get AIDS and die. Somebody could kill you."
"Wow. You one buzz-kill, braddah. Eh, you t'ink I don't know all dat, kefe? I know more dan you, you know. I been on da streets long time, dats why."
"Wouldn't you like to get off the streets?"
"And go f**king where?"
"Back to reality, maybe?"
"Wot, like dat hotbox mess you live in?"
"Oh, nice. thanks. Hey, it's up to you. I made my choices. You make yours. Live how you want to live."
"You wanna live li' dat?"
"This isn't about me."
"Two small dinner salads, sir?"
"Yeah. Da kine."
"OK. Enjoy. I bring da kine."
"You see what I mean? She just referred to two different things as 'da kine'."
"So? You understood her, right?"
"No. Not really."
"Yes you did. Stop being such a big dumb haole. You'll see, she'll bring just what you wanted."
"What you wanted."
"Yeah. Hey, thanks. Nobody bought me dinner, like forevers. Thanks, really."
""Mele Kalikimaka to you, too, braddah. No worries. I gonna fix up your life for you. No more pick up da wahine right up offa da street, yeah? Wot, you lolo o' somet'ing?" She smiled that smile again, chewing away.
"I guess I must be."
"Anh, can feex. You watch me."
"OK. I'll watch you."
[ PART EIGHT copyright 2008 Cosa Nostradamus.]
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