Matt Cadd was alone. Honey? Boring. Raven? Dancing. He went looking for Candi. He found her in Starbuck's with mocha and croissant. He wheedled. He smooth-talked. He got her.
She waited.
"Doll. You mean it? You're charging me?"
"It's a work night," she pouted, "you--of anyone--ought to understand."
Fifties don't talk. They scream.
The Giants are The Worst Baserunning Team on The Planet
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*AZ 3 SF 2*
Prove me wrong.
--M.C.
1 day ago
1 comment:
Matt Cadd, on the other hand, IS lookin' good. Nice to read you again, Matt. Yes. A most worthy creation. Fifty is as fifty does. Well.
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