Wednesday, 2 February 2011

At the assassins' table

You ever think bout those boys the government asked us kill?

Except for practicalities, I find reflection gets in way of reflex.

How come you ain't taken your shot at me already?

Got no beef with you, as yet.

But may be the Man has, huh? Nothin personal n'all that.

You expect me to tell you what the Man wants? I don't presume. And I don't tell. Leads to inefficiencies. Course you understand. I know you do.

You always were one cool customer.

And you hide your ice behind table talk.

Well, I guess that's how am gonna make you my bitch.

Really, is that all you got?

I see am gonna have to don the trousers in this here flirtatious situation and make me the order. What'll you be havin?

Stake. Side-order of fries. Root beer.

Waitress darlin: two orders of stake, two side-orders of fries and two roots. Ice and slice I presume?

You assume correctly.

Ice and slice twice. Now we both got beefs. And chips, thus sayest the Brits.

Let's not us forget our roots.

Going Dutch?


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