PADDLIN' MADELINE HOME
(history in the making)
I picked her up at the shoe-shine stand,
where I'd caught a glimpse up her dress.
She smiled back with the allure of a
regular Genghis Khan daughter. Or
maybe it was that other guy, who
crossed the Alps on elephants to
overtake the Romans? Hannibal,
yeah. Did he have a daughter, I
wonder?
-
As it stood, there was nothing meek
about her, and we walked over to the
Nanety Arms Hotel - one of those
foolish places near Times Square,
where even the leftover stale donuts
reeked of sin. Yet you'd never know
that stuff now unless I told you; the
place is so clean today that even the
wax figures in Madame Tussaud's
don't have fingernails for fear they'd
get dirty. It's all a long way off now,
and far, far away.
-
So, we got where we were going, and
she did take off her clothes, just like
I took off my own. The guy had told us
'twenty minutes, Buster - 12 bucks',
and we used every one.
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