“Whatcha have, Mister Carter?” said my good bud Hammond Greely, head barkeep at the establishment.“Just a Lite,” I said, “got a little time ...o kill.” The place was sparsely populated at that hour. It figured to get significantly more so after rush hour traffic got underway.I was surprised to see Marianne Woodley come in. I’d gotten the afternoon off to take care of getting Jenna enrolled at the high school, but Marianne surely had to be on duty; she never missed a day at Ferguson’s, well, that. (One thing liking men had done is raise my standards in women) Her full raven hair was in a page-boy cut. Her face was more than easy on the eyes, it drew you in. The smile she cracked now and then was more than a little impish and very inviting. She was voluptuous without being fat. Curves were everywhere and with them came deep recesses where you just knew pleasure abounded. She was denim clad, wearing a pair of exotic black leather riding boots, with the emphasis on leather. She would. "Just dance. You're a great dancer."Prom eventually came and went, June came, and our end of the year Cap and Gown Party was looming. It was basically a dance/concert that only forty or so of us went to. Two local hip-hop artists gave shows. I was familiar with both. One is a rapper from the North Side that had backup dancers with him. This is probably the reason why he blew up soon after this. He then performed his then hit song “Crush,” of which of course I danced to. I was in “fuck it” mode.. Kirsten found a stack three times it's normal height, the collection of Saturday, Monday and Tuesday's mail. Only about one in three of the letters involved advertising, and all had to be gone through carefully.She came across an envelope that contained a check and classified ad copy. The ad read, "Piano for sale, like new, console piano. Excellent condition, nothing down with good credit." There was a 1-800 phone number, and the check was drawn on an out of state bank.Once upon a time, she.
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