Awesomest. Name. Ever.
New York, New York, 2007.
They say March comes in like a lion and goes out like a lamb, but something about this particular March told me that the lion and the lamb were making mad, passionate love on the savannah, the days moving from unseasonable heat to freezing hailstorms as if it were the most natural thing in the world.
Of course, the weather didn't do anything for business. Today was cold, not as cold as it had been, but cold enough that Lady Liberty's nips were standing on end underneath that copper gown of hers.
So imagine my surprise when I was unexpectedly interrupted my morning perusal of Flickrbabes by a knock on my office door.
"Come on in," I answered, minimizing the pinups on my laptop screen. I removed my feet from my desk, smoothed down my shirt. Sure, we all do what we have to to keep up appearances.
But I realized that wasn't enough when I saw the doe-eyed dame who came dancing through my door.
"Mr. Smokeless?" she asked, her voice as smoky as my name wasn't. That's me. Sewerage K. Smokeless. And Johnny Cash thought he had it bad when they named him Sue.