Ming Ling?

I'm taking a cab back to our office building from one of our auxiliary spaces. It's a quick ride that feels longer in the heavier traffic of the early afternoon rush. My cab driver is an older Asian man, and his cab is, well, candy-apple-red. And I mean the interior. Bright, bright red vinyl. Ridiculous and marvelous.

I compliment him on it as we cross the Chicago River. He responds with a happy grunt and the word "pleasure."

As we get closer to my office, we pass through an area densely populated with fun restaurants.

CABBIE: Oh, you see there. There is grand sushi restaurant.

ME: Oh? I don't think I've been...

CABBIE: Oh, sir, you would know had you been. You would surely know.

ME: It's good?

CABBIE: If you know what I mean, sir. If you catch my drift, sir.

ME: Oh. Okay.

CABBIE: It is there. There it is where you can eat of the sushi off of woman.

ME: Ohhh, now I see.

CABBIE: Oh, believe me, you see. You see everything of the woman that is not to be covered under her sushi, sir.

ME: Yes. Yes.

CABBIE: Oh, and sir, sometimes it is on the breast sir. The breast!

ME: Ooooh.

CABBIE: Oh, the mingling!

ME: The... ?

CABBIE: The mingling, sir! Oh, to mingle there. And to eat of that sushi. The parties for such behaviors are dying for. And on the breast, even!

ME: No doubt. Okay.

CABBIE: The mingling!

ME: The... ? Okay! Sure!

CABBIE: You understand? Sushi! On woman!

ME: I got it. Yes.

CABBIE: Yes!

(We pull up to my office building as I reach for my wallet. The Cabbie becomes quieter now, more somber.)

CABBIE: To eat of the woman, it is five hundred dollars.

ME: Oh, wow.

CABBIE: Not worth it.