It was Mardi Gras day. There was a busy intersection, Ducatur at Cafe Envie. People were everywhere and the mood was festive. As an ambulance blared its sirens coming from the French Market, a car was struggling to get of the way, but you wouldn't have it. You brazenly parked your wheelchair in the middle of the only available route for anyone to move out from in front of the ambulance. You spun around, yelling at everyone. . . were you drunk? Are you just mentally challenged? Were you high? Either way, I'm into you. As you kept yelling, the car kept honking for you to move, but you didn't. The ambulance amped up it's siren full blast at the car in front of it, while that driver laid on their horn trying to get you to move. Again, you blocking all traffic, laughing, yelling, spinning around in your wheelchair. Ambulance wailing, horn blaring, patient dying. Thirty seconds went by and I was about to jump out of my panties and take you in the midst of all that chaos. . . you know it is a fantasy of mine, don't you? Everyone was watching you, just waiting to see what would happen. I would kill to have f**ked you while everyone watched, and the poor soul in that ambulance inched closer to death with every wail, blare and spin. Eventually another lane opened up, after about a minute passed by, and the car and ambulance sped off. You yelled at them as they went by. How dare they ask you to move?! That is the kind of attitude I want my man to have in bed. Or in the middle of the street. Tell me how many legs you were missing and what year you got back from 'Nam. I have to go masturbate now.
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- Location: French Quarter
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