[Beer down too like he might be getting ready for a verbal fight. Sorry, Lawrence Dimick, but Freddy Newendyke is already there.]
I want what's in your pants you sneaky son of a bitch.
[Freckled limbs go on stretching out to throw his weight against the old man. The new bed can take it, there ain't no delicate frame to creak under them.]
no subject
I want what's in your pants you sneaky son of a bitch.
[Freckled limbs go on stretching out to throw his weight against the old man. The new bed can take it, there ain't no delicate frame to creak under them.]