Post by Melody Arachne on Oct 19, 2007 15:11:35 GMT -5
"Christ on a rubber crutch, Priz, I know none of us can go now, this ..." she waves the note. "This says he can never go to Miami, ever. Not that it's any great loss, unless you like Cuban food ... speaking of food, there should be some canned soup back there, somewhere. If you see ValJon tell him Vito's bleeding on the floor again, gonna need the mop, the bucket, and ..." She looks over at Vito with a critical eye. "...two or three FAKs, at least. Thank God that door closes automatically."
She stretches, inhaling deeply from her cigarette, then letting the smoke roll out of her mouth and inhaling it again through her nostrils. "I think this coffee would go down easier with a shot of irish whiskey ... that doesn't count as drinking, right? If it's in food? Does coffee count as food?"
She stretches, inhaling deeply from her cigarette, then letting the smoke roll out of her mouth and inhaling it again through her nostrils. "I think this coffee would go down easier with a shot of irish whiskey ... that doesn't count as drinking, right? If it's in food? Does coffee count as food?"
