A man at a nearby table has an announcement.
“I need a place to crash in Palm Springs,” he tells his friends. “It’s for my birthday, and I’ve already budgeted $1,000 for the fun, because that’s what I’m worth, so the place needs to be cheap – $100 or less. I’m taking suggestions.”
“Gas, grass, or ass,” one friend suggests.
“What’s that mean?” Birthday Boy asks.
“Barter,” another friend explains. “In the old days, if you didn’t have gas money, you either chipped in some grass, or you gave it up.”
“I’ll give it up for a place to crash,” Birthday says. “But I’m not doing any toe stuff. Never again.”
His friends take note and promise to keep their ears to the ground for a lodging-for-sex barter that does not include toes.
Talk turns to an orgy that was just “so-so” and a “slut bottom” they all know who’s posting on Craigslist, which is a “total red flag.” But that part of the conversation is lost to me. My thoughts are stuck on an app that combines Tinder/Grindr with AirBnB.