CHAPTER SEVEN
AFTER A NUCLEAR ATTACK
“But how?” I squeaked out.
She smiled and, yes, flicked her hair and licked her lips, just like Cher! Mainly because she was Cher! CHER!!! “You know what they say,” she replied, standing there, arms akimbo.
“Never mix liquor and beer,” replied Kit, one hand lifting the margarita, the other a Heineken. “Too late.”
Cher shook her head, but I knew full well what she was getting at and said, “After a nuclear attack, the only things left will be cockroaches and Cher.”
Fingertip got touched to nose. “Bingo,” she said. “And I’m Cher, bitches.” Then she pointed outside and up to the sun. “Nuclear-f*****g-attack.” Then she again turned our way. “Ergo…”
“We should watch out for cockroaches?” quipped Blondella.
“Makes sense,” said Cher, grabbing the Heinek
