Monica Gucci hunkered down before the lock, her bag at her side. It was Saturday, her day off. The guy stopped talking, Monica figured he was examining her ass.
“I didn’t know you were a woman,” he said.
“Really? You shortsighted?”
“I mean, that the locksmith was a woman.”
“You got it straight now, though, right?”
“I believe so. So how come it’s Gucci and Gucci?”
Monica was tempted to swing around and let him check out her rack, make some gag about the girls, you know, but she thought better of it and unscrewed the lock from the door. “This thing’s had it,” she said.
“I didn’t see it until this morning. Must of happened last night.”
“You’re a sound sleeper. You’re gonna need a whole new lock.”
“It’s weird to think somebody came in while I was sleeping. I don’t like people in my pl
