Very short, white hair. Tightly cropped white beard. Large, all seeing, deep blue, very young, eyes. He shook the Doorman’s hand as if they knew eac...h other well. He appeared to know no one he passed on the way to the bar and was greeted by the Bartender with a smile, a hand shake over the bar, and a double shot of Glenlivet, up. He did not sit or lean as he surveyed the crowd, sipping his Scotch. But he did survey. Intently. Not for anything in particular. But he did survey. Intently. There. The lights went down, a hot spotlight zooming in on the squatting spic fucktoy. Everyone in the room could see his pumped brown muscles now, and the guy drilling him as he squatted on the brass pole. Guys wandered over from the tables, seeing the chance for some free and easy entertainment. It was a hard and nasty life, but, you could say Carlos was destined to be a go-go fuckboy. He was good looking and sporty, and his body naturally beefed up easily. He came from poor latino trash. The dishes, pots and pans were all hers. I was leaving my waffle-iron since they were relatively cheap and could be picked up anywhere. The furniture was hers, so the only things I really had to worry about were clothes, some personal belongings and the stuff from the bathroom.I called the house and talked to them. I told them I was taking a week here to say goodbye and then I’d call them back the day before I hit the road. It was a two day stretch, so I wasn’t in any hurry. I told them I had. You have been a loyal friend, you have given me a new life and I have made provisions for you in my plans,” she said. They heard a noise in the hallway and stepped back from each other. In a hushed voice, Monica said, “I will come to your house at 8:00 on next Friday evening. Make sure your stepmother is home but do not say that I am coming, OK? I have something I want to give to her...” She was glancing over his shoulder; her eyes had that look as if she was watching something far away. She.