Chapter Seven
The spacious student center of East-Western University filled with teenagers and twenty-somethings. Airy, wide open, daytime, chairs in concentric circles. Charleston climbed a two-foot high portable stage beneath florescent industrial lighting.
His opening bit featured a measuring tape, which recoiled back into a metal case.
“Hey everybody, I'm Charleston, and I'd like to tell you just one thing about myself.” He held up the tape measure, and he didn't say a word. Instead he pulled it out an inch, and another, until the kids started to laugh. Inch after inch, the tape was soon a foot and a half, and the room laughed accordingly.
“Any interested ladies should know that I'm also an unlicensed massage therapist. Just throwing that out there. Do with it what you will.”
Boys
