Shirley Temple’s Revenge
“Can I get you anything?”
“Is a Sprite with grenadine, a Shirley Temple?”
“Yes, it is.”
“One Shirley Temple, please.”
My liver and kidneys are so bored right now, not much to do, nothing to play with. Kind of like three greyhounds
stuck in their kennel while all the others are out running around the track.
Ms.Ed took the department out to dinner last night and prior, I killed two hours wandering around one of those town square/inside-out malls.
With an hour wait left, I sat in the restaurant’s bar and being exhausted due to a sinus infection, ordered a wimpy, yet sugary drink to
keep me going.
Blood from a Stone Dead Time
The dinner amounted to two hours of desperate, forced conversation. It was at one of those giant, couple of notches above Olive Garden
Eye-talian restaurants in upper middle class areas that throw 5-7 items in a pasta dish that don’t work - which everyone else went for
or the fucking grilled tilapia.
I sat in the middle of the table like Jesus and ordered a steak.
“Is a Sprite with grenadine, a Shirley Temple?”
“Yes, it is.”
“One Shirley Temple, please.”
My liver and kidneys are so bored right now, not much to do, nothing to play with. Kind of like three greyhounds
stuck in their kennel while all the others are out running around the track.
Ms.Ed took the department out to dinner last night and prior, I killed two hours wandering around one of those town square/inside-out malls.
With an hour wait left, I sat in the restaurant’s bar and being exhausted due to a sinus infection, ordered a wimpy, yet sugary drink to
keep me going.
Blood from a Stone Dead Time
The dinner amounted to two hours of desperate, forced conversation. It was at one of those giant, couple of notches above Olive Garden
Eye-talian restaurants in upper middle class areas that throw 5-7 items in a pasta dish that don’t work - which everyone else went for
or the fucking grilled tilapia.
I sat in the middle of the table like Jesus and ordered a steak.