"You like deliveries," said the boy, "and I like to deliver." The chaise lounge glowed like a fiery hearth, dark paisley droplets dancing over an ocean of red velvet. At the foot of the seat, a bowl of raisins lie in the clutch of a bronze facsimile of an eagle's claw.
"I'm not like one of those women in your videos, Raúl."
"Haha! One of those women! You're lucky no blacks are around to hear you say something like that. Tell me, Mona: what exactly do you mean by those women?"
Mona twirled a hair wrap entwined with thin strands of brightly colored yarn between her fingers. Her eyes narrowed, the smokey eyeshadow made her look like gorgeous peruvian raccoon. "You know what I mean," she said, voice quiet and husky with emotion.
"What -- that you won't pucker up to a cock poking through the middle of a pepperoni pie? From your first sugar-coated kiss, I knew your participation in my little films would be denied. But I got what I needed from this illicit dalliance. This little tape will send ripples through the biz that will become waves that will become big, typhoon-like waves and stuff."
"You're beastly."
"Yeah, Mona. I'm a real zany little tasmanian devil. A-hee-hee-hee-hee-hee!!"
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