Hello there. Steve, right? From purchasing? How the hell have you been, bro?
That’s fantastic! I hadn’t heard that you were promoted to Region 6.2 team leader. That’s really great, man. Really great. And, I’m sure, well-deserved.
Wow . . . okay, this, uh, is appreciably more awkward than it was when I rehearsed it a few minutes ago in the bathroom mirror.
You probably just want me to cut to the chase, huh? Fair enough. You deserve that much.
The truth is that I’m in a bit of a pickle here and I’m wondering if you might be able to, you know, help a brother out.
Okay, so Denny was holding rhythmic court under the electric stars of Club Labyrinth last night when I saw a curvy, well-lubed night-minx prowling her way across the room in search of a little company.
My DelVeccian coyness was no match for her milky thighs, pouty breasts, well-seasoned femininity and azure, Come Here Now, Bitch! eyes. In a heartbeat we were in the V.I.P, twin slaves to a bottomless decanter of Patron and our newly-fused lust for the hunt.
By midnight, a graffiti-scarred bus shelter was all that stood between an urgent, tangled embrace of mutually-yearning flesh and the feral Phoenix night.
After I set her up with a kiss and bus fare (including J-line transfer) home, I quickly realized that I had forgotten to secure my tender Lioness’ phone number.
I was resigned to chalking it up as another sad, temporal, ghost of a relationship until I passed your desk this morning and saw my vision–my Edith–smiling from a photo of your graduation from what appeared to be Maricopa County Community College.
So I’m wondering if you’d be so kind as to shoot me your Mom’s digits today when you get a second.
Pops Veccs,
Denny DelVecchio
