"Not much of a gene pool," someone quipped. Said because it was Spring and she'd been left "in charge". Of teenage girls.
A man without his row of front teeth in his mouth smiled broadly.
"Seriously?" She looked right at him.
He smiled bigger and nodded dramatically. "Meat bingo champ baby." He assured.
"We're not hookers!"
The man guffawed. "We'll see about that."
"I want a different pimp," one girl complained.
Finally, the secret boyfriends came back with the slightly stale cider donuts from a band road launch two nights before. "A case of the Mondays," someone said finishing a soda. Cut up tee shirt rags were thrown.
"WHO TOLD THEM TO FINISH PAINTING BEFORE LUNCH?"
"She did Sir."
Another man's paint dripped off the roller as he turned, startled.
"THAT IS NOT HOW WE DO THINGS IN THE MAN-O-SPHERE!"
"They're from the PINK-O-SPHERE Sir. They don't know any better."
"They will."
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