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Axe Me No Questions (Bad Lines: Part Six)

April 12, 2009

Last night, we took the long way from house to bar because, as Andy explained, “if we go left then left again, then left and then right, we’ll bypass the whole Queen and Lansdowne strip, including at least thirty weirdos. Maybe we’ll still run into two or three, but that is way less than thirty.”

On our way home again, the air was cold and we opted for the quick, weirdo-addled route. Now and then, a smarmy character sneaks up on you–you never smell him coming till he’s on you like a day-old fish. Other times, you can detect the sleeze from blocks away. A man hustled past, heading in the opposite direction. Judging by his outfit, his gait, the comb he ran through his hair, someone, somewhere would get the moves put on her very soon.

“Well, he smelled good,” Krista commented. No one wants to hang out with a stinker, but phew, there should be a spritz-gauge on cologne bottles, like those little plastic nozzles bartenders stick into the gin to measure each pour.

A couple blocks later, the man nowhere in sight: “You know, he still smells good! Do you think if we followed the cloud, it would lead us to his front door?”

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