Sometimes I'm right, sometimes I'm wrong
But he doesn't care, he'll string along
He loves me so, that funny honey of mine
Sounds like someone's found the evil karaoke machine.
And of course, for imagery's sake, she's still got her costume donned as she slinks around.
(Thankfully, her singing voice isn't half-bad.)
Sometimes I'm down, sometimes
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(Who couldn't? Half of the world is in love with her.)
And the costume - the almost-sheer yellow fabric, black corset, cut up to here and down to there, and that one, long, black glove - makes it hard for him to exactly look away.
(It isn't as if he would.)
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"Buy you a drink?"
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Walking in heels never poses a problem for her. Nor does sitting on a high barstool in an impossibly short skirt, both of which she manages with a certain kind of finesse.
"I'll take a drink."
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Sitting down next to her, he taps the counter once.
"Pick your poison."
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"What've you been up to since I saw you last?" It's probably better to get it straight from the lion's mouth than, say, the papers.
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"Cleanin' up a group o' punks who thought turnin' the waterfront into a hellhole again sounded like fun. Didn't take long. You?"
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It's still in the works, and she'll have to go back again for another session, but it's coming along nicely.
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(He can't help the slight grin.)
"Gonna let me see it when it's done?"
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They're already discussing a limited distribution; the paintings themselves are going to the highest bidders.
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(Man of relatively few means as he might be, there's one particular painting that will, in time, become one of his prize possessions.)
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Chuckling briefly, he nods in agreement.
"Can't say I disagree."
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