Reading Time: 20 minutes After my session at the enema palace, I was pooped out in more ways than one, so I headed for my apartment to make it an early night. I live a couple of blocks off an unfashionable stretch of Wilshire in a three-story, pre-war apartment house built precariously over a basement parking garage, the kind of building where you can kiss your ass good-bye when the Big One hits.
Reading Time: 18 minutes I got caught in the beginning of rush hour on the way back to my office, and it was almost 5 o’clock by the time I got there. I’ve got a couple of rooms in an old building on the fringe of Chinatown, with a view of the Ocean Seafood sign out of my one dirty window.
Reading Time: 16 minutes I should have known the dame was trouble from the minute she ran into my office.
Sure, she had a terrific ass and a pair of won’t-quit tits that bounced around under her tank top like a couple of softballs on speed. But she also had a hard glint in her baby-blues, and her lips were thin and mean-looking. They reminded me of Sister Mary Agnes back in the fifth grade, which was not a pleasant memory.
