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Evelyn Winterthyme, the doyenne of postprandial depression, stirred royal jelly into my hibiscus tea with her losing mahjong tile, then sucked it clean, clanking the tile against her gnu-bone dentures with a clack that was meant to convey, among other more interesting things, that my services as social lubricant were no longer needed. Now I was expected to provide regular lube.
Date Written: September 03, 2003
Author: Ewan Snow
Average Vote: 4