Reminds me of the old guy who picked up a hitchhiker near the Texas oil fields. The pedestrian noticed, but didn’t want to say anything about, a pair of glasses sitting on the seat that had what they used to call Coke bottles for lenses (huge muthas, in case you hadn’t heard the term). As they drove on in silence, the growing uneasiness finally got to the rider. As casually as he could, he asked, “Those your glasses?” “Yep,” the driver laconically replied. Trying to hide his alarm, rider asked, “Don’t you think you should be wearing them?” “Don’t need to,” the old guy replied, “prescription windshield.”
Reminds me of the old guy who picked up a hitchhiker near the Texas oil fields. The pedestrian noticed, but didn’t want to say anything about, a pair of glasses sitting on the seat that had what they used to call Coke bottles for lenses (huge muthas, in case you hadn’t heard the term). As they drove on in silence, the growing uneasiness finally got to the rider. As casually as he could, he asked, “Those your glasses?” “Yep,” the driver laconically replied. Trying to hide his alarm, rider asked, “Don’t you think you should be wearing them?” “Don’t need to,” the old guy replied, “prescription windshield.”