ERIN DORSO |
The Regular |
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He�d be a womanizer |
if he were better |
looking. |
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He orders another one straight-up, |
and grabs the coarse rope necklace |
of the waitress, skirting her way around the bar, |
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�did you make that?� |
slips out between his teeth. |
He grazes her freckled |
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shoulder and sneers up |
at her round young |
eyes. |
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His gold rimmed glasses |
betray his age |
and his meaty throat undulates |
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as he reveals distasteful |
intent. |
Another silkskin arm passes |
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and he lunges from the vinyl booth |
squeaking under him, |
�you enjoying yourself tonight?� |
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He is. |
He always is. |
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