a story for chris

by santoki

Last Saturday, I went to a fancy little soire to celebrate the jolly, holiday. As the hosts live in a third floor walk-up, they hired a local bouncer to act as the guardian of the keep. As we approached the threshold, he greeted us with a smile, and a few flirty comments.

Then he turned to me, gave a cute little “woo,” and said:

“Only a sista with flava could rock those shoes!”

That is just about the nicest thing anybody’s ever said to me.

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