H, the office manager, traipsed tardily into my office on his daily morning constitutional. He sauntered towards my bird’s-eye window to manage the ante meridian view below. All of a sudden, he called out to me to come and take a quick street scan.
A girl! Slender, tall; still magnificently delicious womanhood! She was tucking in her shirt, which the tight pants on her canyon curves were constantly casting off. Shirt in straight, and she started cheesecaking away from under my look-out.
He wondered if he should call her. Cheerleader-I said yes! As H managed the window into an open-slide position, a parked white Toyota Land Cruiser Prado backed up into the street, and pulled up beside our girl. Quick words were swapped as H’s hellos were deafly disregarded. She half-glided-half-galloped into the SUV, and they were gone in a wisp.
Were we livid? No! Were we sad? Not at all! Were we beaten? Twice soundly, thrice roundly! And it was not even the real Land Cruiser, but its less charming cousin!