Solicited in a High Class Geisha Club
“I think you are being inappropriate, sir. Please leave.” Then I picked up the closest ashtray and clocked him.
“I think you are being inappropriate, sir. Please leave.” Then I picked up the closest ashtray and clocked him.
There was no thunder, no glowing doorway, no mysterious wind blowing through the apartment, and no choir of angels politely alerting me that physics had submitted its resignation.
The deck simply felt heavier.