He chuckles. “That’s a mouthful. But to tell you the truth, I’d be very interested. What single guy wouldn’t? Depends who the man is…and how the planets line up. Are our signs the same? Is he Amish? Is he already married? He can’t be a serial killer. I have my limits.”
“Of course he’s not a serial killer. I wouldn’t put you in that position. Although he does seem to like blood. He works for a blood bank.”
He laughs.
I laugh.
One of the old birds with too much cologne, a bristly mustache, and a walker moves up and behind my date. He smells of baby powder and whispers something in Iron’s ear while toying with his left n****e and pec. Iron looks petrified, goes solid white and wide-eyed. His life maybe flashes in front of him as the old bird’s talon falls to the center of his chest.
I do
