Poor guy. “What’s up, Snow?” I announce, prompting him to open the door,
“Why’s it gotta be me?” he questions, “What, you knock racist or something?”
“Lucky guess,” I reply in a sarcastic tone, not even giving him the satisfaction of entertaining his dumb joke,
“Well, get a ticket already. Porn I’m telling you now, I’m paying for it to this day. Thanks, bartender lady. Hours pass and I make it to the bar, parking in the front and taking a good look at the place. Fuck, she’s good. Yeah. “Oh, it’s no problem at all, son,” I say, “Go have fun. Don’t get into any fights or anything.”
“You’re really not gonna let that go, are you?
