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Show 52, Jeffries, Islamorada [Section 2] She was dragging her creamy breasts across his chest and screaming politely and he reflected, "Well, uh, I, ah, that's nice. I mean it's kind of romantic to, ah, gamble like that." "Relax," she crooned. "Nothing to worry about. I work in a hospital." She was dabbing where he'd spilled a thimbleful of cream cold on her belly. All My Children, he thought. Enough tiny men in there to people the city. And what a town that would be. Left-hemisphere people. A million guys who could maybe write South Florida history as good as Marjorie Stoneman Douglass. But couldn't change a tire. Sleepy, but game to beat the strip out of the price of a motel room, he took off for the Keys. Princeton, Naranja. And like in the old child's tale the moon in Lake Surprise. At The International House of Pancakes, too tired to drive the last twenty miles, he stopped for coffee. The Monroe County Patrol was there. "Schoolteacher," they greeted him. "Ain't it about time to be putting Sunshine State plates on that stingray?" "Sure, I--" "How does he do it?" "Must be the car." "Uh, do what?" "Well we was lookin', guardin' your home, actually, with our spotlight. . ." |
