| August
6, 2003
shaming
of the true
Every
now and again, the job didn't suck. This was one of those times.
From his barstool, Elliott Longstreet had the angle on Toni Morrison. Fine-looking
broad in the corner pocket. She sat at the corner table across
the Napoleon House courtyard, Pimms Cup dripping, brilliant green banana
leaves swaying above her head in the dying light of dusk. She was
long, tan and alone. And she was waiting for someone, someone who
didn't understand she preferred regret to dread and both to shame. |