Chapter 8 ~ Funky Fly

She tumbled into my office like a Mexican bar fight, cussing, all teeth and nails.
She stood there giving me the old once over from head to toe, her eyes smouldering like the Gauloises held daintily in her fingertips.
She was the kind of woman that would make the Pope regret every life choice he had ever made.
I poured her a scotch, the friscalating amber slipping into the glass like a well worn shoe, and walked over to her in silence.
I slowly raised the glass to her ruby red lips, held her gaze and said "Dere ya go dere now"

Want more? Check out our Spotify playlist, more than enough Funk and Soul to see you through, just pop on shuffle and chill: https://open.spotify.com/user/1155981435/playlist/09Flud8HGgagSA5fhd4dGS