That Gulf Coast tale (or that gulf coast tail?)
Couple of years ago, I was working at an event on the gulf coast. In walks a young lady attired in not much more than a sarong and a bikini top. She was, as I recall, rather amply endowed. Attracted fair degree of attention at the event.
She came back later in the evening, more suitably clothed, and we left. Had some dinner, listened to a band a play, and I was back at the hotel, in bed, asleep – by my self – before 11 that night.
Next morning, when I was particularly well-rested, I received a great deal of chiding about why I was so well-rested. I tried to defend my honor and the honor of the young lady, but to no avail. The more I protested, the worse the ribbing. I just shut up.
So when my hostess and compadre, friend and confidante in El Paso wrote this, I figured the story about the monk who doesn’t live like a monk (according to the rumors) would be appropriate.
Guest entry:
Of course he never writes about his Aries to the second power- yep Sun Aries, Moon, Aries. Anyway- ME, YES, ME his friend and Hostess!!!!! What gives Kramer?!?!?!?!
Which is why, I really do live like monk.
Unrelated:[/i}
From the killer coffee shop in Las Cruces, Mesilla, actually:
Megan, Pisces Barista & Author
Close up of the bags
