I took an Uber to the airport. My driver’s name was Shirley. Or maybe it was Sherry. At any rate, she was bat-shit crazy. Told me her “good” car had been in an accident* so she was driving her “back-up” car; said the steering wasn’t very good but that it would probably be OK. She told me there were litter boxes in classrooms in Austin because of the furries**. She told me she’d been a tomboy as a girl and that now “they” (it’s always “they”, isn’t it?) wanted to “slap penises on all the tomboys.”***

Her comments made the driver from the night before who’d told me he was a private investigator, which 100% seemed like a story he was making up as he went along, seem boring. And normal.

Anyway, when I got in the airport, I walked around for a few minutes to clear my head of all the Ubery bullshit I’d just heard. It didn’t really work: it’s now a couple of weeks later and I am still thinking about Shirley/Sherry and her, uh, thoughts on things.

San Antonio International Airport
San Antonio, Texas
photographed 10.10.2026

*Accident was not her fault. Of course. It never is.
**What?
***Again, what?