A troll. ‘Fuck,’ I said. ‘Who let him in?’ ‘He’s wearin’ a shirt and shoes,’ Cherry pointed out. ‘What was I supposed to do?’ ‘A..., it’s not your fault, kid,’ I ruffled her hair. The sign actually did keep a number of them out. And she was as upset as I was. A troll like that could bring her average tips down below what we all call the ‘H’ line. It didn’t matter how many tips you got in total, just what your average was. There was a magic number that would have the boss smiling at the end of the. I let her slip slowly onto the soft cushions of my big red reclyning chair. She really is beautiful, her wild blond hair frames her pretty face like a fire storm! The adrenalin-boost by the shock of our hefty collision must have relaxed her completely: she breathes calmly and regularely. She wears a loose purple university sweater and very sexy skin-tight pants - and there: her jeans are ripped open and her right knee is bleeding! I say: »Hey, hey, can you hear me!«, but the girl just stirs. More

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