Well, if you think that is new it is no wonder you do not pick up many freelance gigs. Your lack of creativity creates a staleness that probably bores editors to death.
Originally Posted by DSK
I could talk about your mother and the whorehouse she used to run. How she could feel the hot breath of the johns on her neck as they pumped away at her. How they smelled like a mixture of gasoline and cigarettes. Friday night they would come in with their pockets bulging from cashing their weekly check.
Frank would always come in around 9, after getting his fill of whiskey at the No. 10 Saloon, just a few blocks down the street. He always brought her a single white rose. She made sure he noticed as she gently removed the old one from the vase and changed the water. He was older than her regular customer by a good 20 years. His face was weathered from working in the sun all day on a rig in the Galveston Channel.
He mentioned a wife and family in of their first meetings. He'd only done it the one time, though. Most of the time he stared at the ceiling after they finished. He'd never been violent, but she didn't dare bother him with too many questions.
To find out more about Frank, read my forthcoming book: DSK is a big fat bitch