’ ‘What’s he do?’ I asked. ‘Depends on who you ask,’ she chuckled — but there was sadness in her voice. ‘Well then, a man of many tale...ts.’ She turned and looked at me, it was a half mocking, half approving look: ‘Well my goodness, Hank. You’re a gentleman, aren’t you?’ ‘Depends on who you ask,’ I smiled. ‘Some folks I know might take exception to that.’ ‘Fuck ’em, Hank! Fuck ’em all if they can’t take a joke!’ She threw her head back and laughed. She reminded me of a lioness, perhaps getting. The wild-musk-rosepervaded pouch filling out her gusset with its purse lips closed: purse lipsspeaking of love in thunderous wondrous poetic-prose-silence, in its gentlerepose. Did she hear? She seemed to move indisplay of all her loveliness, and flash her long strong legs every sexy wayscintillatingly. And a look said she heard and was disturbed but not dismayedat the words of the two girls eyeing her, one of them unintentionally braying abovethe heat of the DJ?d music dance beat. As Seraphima. More

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