Dunn Brothers is regular morning pit stop on my way to the office. Something went wrong during this morning’s drive. I looked down while driving on Highway 62 and I was covered in in coffee. One of the coffee cups was partially collapsed and I was pretty convinced that I should not be driving. The coffee cups looked pretty rough when I got into the office.
I think I need to start my morning quarantine too early.
I read for my federal tax law procedure class at the Freighthouse Dunn Brothers, which is one of the cutest cafes in Minneapolis (pictures here).
I pack everything up about 25 minutes before class start time and walk across the street to my car. As I cross the street in front of Dunn Brothers, I notice this spaced-out woman in a pickup truck. She’s the second car stopped at the light. Instead of scooting forward to let me by, she just looks past me stupidly.
I walk behind her truck and unlock my car. The light changes and the pickup truck drives forward. I open my back door and then hear tires screech and a smack.
The pickup truck hit a pedestrian.
It was a fairly convenient place to get hit because the cops were out to direct traffic and HCMC (the major downtown hospital) is only a few blocks away. The police and medics arrived within minutes.
The pedestrian wasn’t dead, but she was covered in blood and didn’t get up. I quickly told the cop what I saw and then jetted off to class. The bellhop and the man in the black BMW saw the entire accident and stayed with the police.
This is the first pedestrian accident I’ve seen since moving to Minneapolis, although when I lived in Dinkytown it was fairly common to see bikers hit by cars.
Stay classy, Minneapolis.
I’m at Dunn Brothers and trying hard to not laugh. Minneapolis cafes are prime territory for awkward conversations, and this is precious.
I am sitting near a middle aged man who is a caricature of a slimy Hollywood producer – facelift, all black clothes, tasseled shoes, bluetooth in ear, and a really glossy facelift.
Hair plugs’ victim is a cute, 20-something year old girl.
H.P. is rambling about LA, the music industry, and dropping names. He retreats, says goodbye, and then comes back and starts up again. It is absolutely horrid and uncomfortable.
The ridicule on this girl’s face is priceless. The best quote, before H.P. gives her his “digits” and finally leaves, was this:
H.P.: “What you do is get $2,000 in cash in 50′s and 20’s for escape money. In L.A. you always need escape money.”
I do not want to know.