The pizza joint below the apartment had closed, but lingering smells made everyone drool for greasy food. It was midnight, downtown. My lust-magnet, Tom, and me had met college friends. Tom said he was hungry. Could he borrow money? “Bring us food,” I said. He shoved bills into jeans pockets, and left. Upstairs, we drank beer and tequila, and laughed like halfwits. It got really late. Tom was still missing. Fear twisted my guts. Finally, I moaned: “Tom better knock on this door—
Thwack! The door opened. Tom stood there, empty-handed, pockets turned inside-out.
“Where were you?” everyone yelled.
“How’d you get back?”
“Two ‘ladies-of-the-night’ led me back.”
“Lightened your pockets,” I remarked, pointing.
His head drooped. “They seemed so sweet….”
I rolled my eyes. Yep. Wicked sweet. Meanwhile, everyone was starving.
And my genius, Tom? He can go to hell!