Aging Titty Dancer
by James MacLaren
Phoo. What a way to make a living. And it’s strictly a young girl’s game. Start pushing thirty, and they’re gonna start pushing you out the door.
But you’ve foolishly determined that you don’t need to know the least thing about survival in the real world. All you do is shake that cute little ass of yours in front of drunken losers, and money just sorta falls out of the sky on you.
What a deal, eh?
So, when the bottom drops out (consider the implications), you’re gonna start copping a major attitude.
Which I really don’t want to share with you, but since I’m trapped behind this counter, there’s not a whole lot I can do about it, is there?
Lookey here, dearie, it’s not MY fault that you are no longer able to manipulate guys (myself included) by leaning over the counter and showing off your wrinkled cleavage and winking at me.
Take the sonofabitch somewhere else would you? I’ve got work to do.
This is invariably met with a snarl, and such objects that are being purchased getting slammed upon the counter top with gusto.
Whatever.
Bitches and gripes over meaningless trivialities. Boyfriends, broken down transportation, outstanding debts, you name it.
I’m not even listening.
She finally takes the clue and shoves off.
Fuck off, asshole.
