Monday, July 25, 2011

Yahoo! Male

The serviette fell from Terry’s lap and as she bent to retrieve it she glanced at the circle of Tevas parked under the adjacent table. A Fred Flintstone convention, one of the delegates attached to a piston-like leg that bounced up and down in nervous excitement. Straightening, she chanced a look at their faces, big, happy and red with too much microbrew and rib marinade. Although it was dusk each had prehensile sunglasses perched on a gelled head or hugging the back of a tanned neck. Together they remembered the words to Pee-Wee’s Playhouse and sang it out loud.

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