Hired to Kill Pop Music part 2

My niece arranged an internet hookup by putting a few slightly exaggerated details and a photo of me in the dark, kinda like Brando in Apocalypse now onto an internet website that said no credit card necessary.

She was a pretty lass who tried her best not to wince when she saw my face, “You have kind eyes.” She said. I thanked her knowing she was far too good for me. Her dress actually fitted for christ sakes, I was wearing a suit my father died in. He was 5,7, I’m 6 Frekin 2!

I ordered her a drink. Rum and coke. I stuck to pepsi.

What could I do, I was vain, I only wanted beautiful women? I didn’t want the gut rot that were compatible with me and my face. I didn’t need mental masturbation. She did not have to give verbal discourse on the insanity of the world, have read Camus and Celine. No! I needed a real looker. Soft skin, wide eyes beaut to wake up to every morning before I take to the crapper, a real life walking talking musical, all the while reminding me I am not dead and that it is everybody else who has had their insides scooped out.

“Did you hear about the fire?” she said after finishing her first drink. Evidently I had little so say until this point, “School bus headlong into a tree, exploding the engine or something, KABOOM!” she seemed happy she had information that would mean something to someone other than herself.

I shrugged and had no reply once more.

“Does this not mean anything to you?” she said, wriggling her eyebrows into a pose…