So I'm tending bar for Frank to pay him back for all the times he read slush for me, and I'm thinking I'll close early because the place is empty, when in walks this babe. She looks me up and down and I pretty much know what she's thinking. She's thinking, Hey, you're not Frank . . . not that I'm complaining, cowboy. She's thinking, Nice chops; heavy, but well-maintained, not out-of-control like some Welsh shepherd, more like a king woulda worn back when men were men and not pussies. She's think
Published on June 28, 2009 07:16