Meg walked into her favorite salon. But where was Sasha? A buxom blonde, all hair and makeup, barely five feet tall in heels, greeted her. She was leaning against the wall, hands on hips, chewing gum.
Where's Sasha, Meg asked.
I ate her. Take a seat. You wanna drink?
No, I don't drink. Maybe I should come back another time.
The blonde pushed her down in the chair.
Such pretty eyes. We need to lose those bangs, honey. Meg stiffened as the stylist began snipping away, swiveling her hips, sashaying around the chair.
A muscular young man stood in the doorway, long hair carefully parted. He flexed his pecs.
You do men in here?
Big boy, I do men anywhere. But if you want a haircut, go down the block. And don't look so disappointed. I get off at six and live right upstairs. Why don't cha come up and see me sometime?
It wasn't a question.
No comments:
Post a Comment