Jeffrey and I ended up at Lucky's one night. We strolled through a throng of scantily clad women - in various states of inebriation, grinding on beefy testosterone cases - searching for M. The description Donald gave us was utterly useless: blond, voluptuous, tall (but not too tall), extremely sociable, soulful, a true Bodhisattva. Well, the Bodhisattva part would've been enlightening if one could tell from the size and shape of a girl's posterior whether they were a truly daemonic beauty. Although there is much to be learned from the feminine backside, this is not one of them. So we waded anonymously through the throng, picking up disposable number after disposable number, and ticking criteria off of our list. Our candidates fit most of the items - save the last two.
Soulful? Most women think they're soulful - that is until their uncoordinated drunken gyrations prove otherwise. This inescapable fact whittled the field down to three women - a petite blond - a former beauty queen turned exotic dancer - who went by the name of Margaret, a tall slender blond Indian contortionist called Medusa, and a Japanese blond who responded only to the name Moon. These names only have a minor nominal value as placeholders - employed to minimize any confusion that may ensue in their absence.
