An iconoclastic adventurer, lost in a New York he never made, reports on drinking, women, and drinking and women.
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Saturday, November 1, 2003
Light-up devil girl
The amazing-looking receptionist is forever upping the ante with her choice of garments, and one can only wonder why. Must the Bras be so full of Wonder? Why do I know the color, shape, model year, and serial number of her belly ring? What is the purpose of this? Who is this for? Does she really want me to commit ritual suicide at her desk? Because I can’t, I’ve got a client coming.
On Halloween she wore blinking-light devil horns with her orange sweater ensemble. She offered to let me borrow her pitchfork, which I used in some meetings. She seems interested in pleasing me, though of course only because I am her superior officer and vaguely nice to her. She told me she went to a party in the costume of a corrupted Catholic schoolgirl. I asked her how that could be considered a costume, since she dresses that way every day. What a terrible thing to say. I asked her in what way her schoolgirl was corrupted. She replied ominously that it had been in ways that I didn’t want to know about. But she was wrong, of course, she was wrong.
by Jack, November 1, 2003 2:29 PM
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