« Stacy: Thrall | Main | Michele: To Spite My Brain »
October 4, 2006
From the Comments: Jeff R.
21st Century Moll:
Sex feels like music to her. A violin solo, usually, with most of her tricks. A bass guitar if they guy gets rough. A complicated fugue when she's home, with her girlfriend.
She handles all the cash for this neighborhood's Syndicate. Just looks at it, carefully. Counterfeits are usually too purple, and a set of marked bills with their adjacent serial numbers can make the whole pile turn pink.
There's probably a thousand just like her out there, and more coming out of the vats each day. The mob wouldn't let a set of genes this useful go to waste.
Bookmark: del.icio.us • Digg • reddit
Comments
Check before you post!
Check your word count here: