This is to be read in an american grizzled accent, please enjoy the working opening on my show that I will eventually put on somewhere.
It could have been mid-night or mid-day I didn’t know; three
nights making love to lady whiskey will do that to a man, but held in her
embrace I could almost learn to trust again, almost. I’d been through hell on
my last job finding a little girls cat, nine days I searched every tree in the
city, there wasn’t a litter box I hadn’t gone through with a fine tooth comb,
when I found the pussy crushed by a car I almost went mad, payment on delivery;
that’s my promise. Scrapping a cat up off the road with nothing but your bare
hands and a grimace will change a man on the inside and is as good a reason as
any to start a passionate affair with the only women that will never leave me;
whiskey. Not that I ever need a good reason.
She came into my office like a stick of dynamite; I knew if I
got her hot it could be dangerous. She had a face
like a light in a dark rainy city, comforting. Lips like and open pair of legs,
inviting; her body was a wonderland; I really wanted to have a long think with it. Most dangerously she reminded me of whiskey, my wife, my lover and my
only friend. She didn't make the rules
on beauty but she sure as hell broke the mould. She is charming, positively
coquettish. In short that bitch from Troy didn’t have shit on her. Red
Herring she introduced herself as and right away I didn’t trust her, like a
lazy pulp fiction writer I knew she would prove an interesting plot device in
the third act. She had one hell of a job for me, no cats this time; but for
some reason I couldn’t shake the impression I was going to get some pussy.
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