Ruminations Of An Imaginary Candidate
A saxophone is just a giant Kazoo with keys and a reed. Having no idea why that thought had surfaced in his awareness, he pushed it down and continued working the crowd, "genuine" smile contorting his features, palms coated in antiperspirant. Grip firm, but not too firm. Don't look at the tits, don't think about that ass. Don't spend any more time with the cute young thing than with anyone else.60 feet from the door to the stage. After that, it's just script. Oh, shit, it's Monica. How did she get up front? This is going to come back to bite me in the ass for sure.