Omar

I wasn't sure what Omar wanted from me. He agreed to meet me at Tacos on the River for an early dinner. The little weasel was in fine form, babbling on about alien conspiracy theories and the hidden meaning in Rod Stewart lyrics.
"You know that train song isn't really about a poor chick. It's about overthrowing the government. There is a secret cult in Oklahoma called Rodsters For Anarchy. That so-called 'train song' is their anthem," Omar said with a maniacal laugh.
"Yeah, I know," I lied. "Look. There is a reason behind this taco dinner. Omar, look at me. Focus. I need to know what you want from me."
"You aren't the first girl I've danced with beneath the pale moonlight. You won't be the last. No offense."
"So I'm a pawn in your game of Whoever Gets The Most Vagina Wins. Correct?"
"I love it! I love how you put things! Yes! That's what you are, baby! A vagina pawn!" Omar laughed so hard I was afraid he was going to choke on his chicken tacos.
"Omar, stop laughing. Please. It wasn't that funny. Look, I'm exiting your life now. Bye."
"Wait! I want to have sex with you one last time!"
"No."

I knew what I needed to know so I cut off all my sexy red hair and sold it to a wig shop. Then I got Vagina Pawn tattooed above my left nipple and started a band with that name. I just sang. I did not play guitar.