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September 2008, vol 4 no 3
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Jeffrey Winke Grover Washington Tune and the Liver-Spotted In the dark mahogany jazz club located where MapQuest can't find it, the strong-chin, dirty-blonde shimmied a bit when the lanky sax player wearing the navy-blue suit bit into a long, yearning wail during a Grover Washington tune and the liver-spotted patrons of the musical arts stroked their thighs as she confidently brushed her sideswept bang from her left eye and pursed her kissable lips around a lit Slim Panatela cigar furnished by the no-neck dude with the scruffy, dye-black goatee, who took pleasure in twirling his engraved silver, turbo-flame lighter in his gloved right hand. baggy pants just the hint of her tush |