("Oh death, where's thy sting?") See? He remembered that from close to sixty years ago when he and Clara went to see that Shakespeare production!The o...d man sat in the porch swing trying, willing his stubborn vocal cords to miraculously start to work again. Inarticulate and incoherent sounds rumbled from his throat as his dead tongue wallowed around in his mouth and drool ran out of the corners of his mouth. Ah! Ah! Ah! Shnii..." He couldn't even saw "aw shit."Tears of frustration formed again. Just throw on a t-shirt and some shorts. Leaving in five minutes."“I hate you,” I mumbled, making sure it was loud enough for him to hear.“I know.”I took my time, knowing that it would bug him. Hated waiting, so both Anya and I always made a habit of being late, just to annoy him. Fifteen minutes later I was climbing into the Wrangler with a short-sleeve cotton shirt, still unbuttoned, a short grin skirt, and a pair of red Converse sneakers, my glasses and another beer in one hand, a brush in. Two o'clock sharp, Amy Parkison walked into Mitchell's office. Wow! They'd told me she was a babe, but I hadn't given the concept adequate consideration. She was wearing a conservative business suit, but the skirt was short and form-fitting and the legs were -- oh, shit! The legs were fantastic!She was the kind of woman who, when she walks into a room, makes the head of every guy's penis do that little involuntary twitch, just because you've made eye-contact. The kind where you try to introduce. I smiled, "Take off anything that you fancy." I said, then worried about the potential of an ensuing court case for harassment.She took off her jacket, and undid the top two buttons of her blouse, then grinned. "Does that include your trousers?" she said with a very naughty grin.I gulped, "You like men's trousers?" I said, trying to move onto a lighter subject."No especially," she said. "Depends what's in them."She stood up, and stretched her arms above her head and then outward, then moved to.
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