Tonight, at the Laundromat, I encountered a mightily energetic brood of children. One of them had a pink scooter (which, of course, I coveted) and a tendency to burst into song. They forced me into hiding. And where was my chosen refuge? The restroom. I imagined that, since this is a facility with coin operated machinery, the manager decided to take advantage of this plethora of coinage by charging the restroom-goers one quarter per entry. Sanctuary comes at a hefty price indeed.
So, if I choose the button on the right, I get Spanish soap? Sweet.
3 comments:
would you say, you have a plethora?
real archaeologists don't use whips.
Why, El Guapo?
Would you like some cool whhip?
Yea... sometimes I don't want soap... I want some fucking jabon!!! But not jamon.... two very different things
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