West L.A. Fadeaway

 

Walking out of Quick Trip yesterday I ran into a chick I used to date about 10 years ago. I still can’t remember her name. I think it was Leanne or something like that. But anyway, we exchanged the normal pleasantries, “How have you been? – What are you doing these days?” – yada, yada, yada…

She explained that she lived in a house a few blocks away. “Do you want to go see it?” she asked.

“Do I want to go see your house?”

“No, do you want to go to my house and fu*k?”

Now I found her question to be odd because if I remember correctly, we never fu*ked before. Leanne (or whatever) was one of those girls that just loved giving BJs.

I grabbed her left hand and asked, “Aren’t you married?”

“Yeah, but he’s out of town.”

“He’s one lucky fellar.”

She gave me a look, pulled her hand back and walked away. I was thinking, “Why is this nasty slut looking at me like I’m a dick?”

Seriously.

I met an old mistake, walking down the street today. I didn’t want to be mean about it, but I didn’t have one good word to say.