. . . who's walking around the Promenade in Santa Monica.

Suddenly: "Lord have mercy," he exclaims. "I've got to go."

He calls me ten minutes later. "That must have been fast work," I tell him. "Did you get a phone number?"

"There were three of them. They were just like walking truffles. But I had to go because a colleague of mine called at that moment. He's married, and when I described what I was looking at he accused me of trying to get him in trouble."

"That would imply you were willing to share," I remark.

Posted by: Attila Girl at 07:05 PM | Comments (3) | Add Comment
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