Weirdos in Logan, and Other Tales From the Road. Chapter Three.

Forward
Chapter One: The Shadowboxing Magician
Chapter Two: Bug Eyes
Chapter Three: Lasso of Death


"That guy's trying hard to get some ass," Steve observes as we sit in a crowded Cincinnati airport.

We are eating a late dinner while staring at a man in his mid-twenties chatting up the three girls surrounding him, one on either side and one in front of him. Their grimaces prove the girls aren't buying it.

"He's just one of those guys who's always talking. It's like a lasso of death," Steve told me as we watched the kid start talking to a young soldier after being shunned by the girls. "I would kill myself over there."

The kid moves from person to person eager for any audience, though he prefers a female one. He is over confident in his mediocre muscles. His skin tight shirt gives him the extra boost of confidence he needs to approach men and women alike.

Aaah. Little Man Syndrome.

No one wants to hear it. The first girl opens her phone, pretending to answer an important text. Any excuse to ignore the pointless but persistent chatter. The other girls stand up and leave.

It's been a long day. It's too difficult to pretend to be nice. Anything would be better than the lasso of death.

Someone get this kid a bigger shirt.