(no problemo...yer the Master Storyteller, LeeJ:-)

As I followed her around the corner, like a lost puppy dog, I had a hard time focussing on anything but those legs, and the movement of her nice little behind. Now wonder they had her giving tours! What an attraction!

Her apartment was directly above the Hushabye Club, a soft, bluesy kinda place, some woman singing low and tired about her man leaving her. The oldest story in the book. We climbed the stairs, narrow and dark, with only one naked lightbulb, hanging from a dangerous looking wire at the top, near enough to her door, that I could see the nameplate on her mailbox, "S. Costas-Washington".