Serena was hell on insects.
The fiber-glass snapped, and the piece with the reel flew over to crash on my Buick’s shiny hood. I got out of the car and tried to just walk on past her. I was definitely ripe for my Friday-afternoon beer. But Serena was too fast for me. She put herself between me and the house.
Serena was hell on insects. A badly mashed stag beetle was lying in the grass. I was relieved that it wasn’t a little Harry. What were you doing to it? Serena liked to go over and pick on her baby.
She had a good figure, pink skin and hair light colored enough to dye to regulation-issue California blonde. Did I mention that she had cutely bowed lips? She was the kind of woman that guys turned around to stare after in the street. Jena was happy with the roses I’d brought; she laid them on the built-in dressing table while she started drying her hair in front of the mirror, standing there naked. I sat on the bed watching her, drinking her in, the curves and colors of her body. Jena always enjoyed being the focus of my attention. I walked over and kissed her.
Are you in New York? I called the network and I’m going to be on the Brad Kurtow show this morning. I’m staying at the Plaza Hotel. I’m sleeping in a double bed with Harry and Sondra. I got the brains off their backs, and today I’m going to try and get blunzed.
Lots of people wore jewels as well, and I noticed several men drawing out big wads of cash. I can’t go back to working at Softech. Shiny cars antique and futuristic alike buzzed this way and that. In a doorway across the street lay a man slumped in some interminable ecstasy. In the distance I heard music playing. What did he wish for?