“So,” Lisa emphasized the word to get the exotic girl’s attention. “What happened? Were you shot? Stabbed? Stuck in the ass with a tree branch... What?”“Uh, um,” Sandi stammered, confused at the breakneck speed of Lisa’s questioning. “Yeah. I was ... um ... shot.”“Right in the ass,” Murielle injected, trying to add some levity to the room.“It was not my ass! It was my thigh!” Sandi argued, clearly embarrassed, now.“I’m more interested in the who, not the where,” Lisa growled, using her. "Nah. A glass of white wine would be good, though."We talked for a few minutes until a table opened up. At one time Bossman had decided he wanted a dance hall, built an addition, and closed it in less than a year. Didn't like the hassle he said came with it. Now it was sort of a overflow dining room. He did break down and put a jukebox in, and on the weekends people actually danced.I caught Bossman passing, told him how I'd bragged on his burgers, and he had four people he needed to impress. He. More

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