Overexposed

Plaid

How does one begin? Imagine me, heh, I'm nothin special. Just an ol' blue blood who got tired of slinging cuffs on thugs whose pants hung too low.  I spent one too many long nights looking tired girls in the eye, willing them to press charges, but no, they always go back. And then finding those shot up dead idiots who had it good, with made in the shade trophy wives with amazing cans. Those wise guys fuck it all up when they step outta line and play tickle the pickle with their secretary instead of coming home to the wifey to give her the salami. Man. Wasted days, long ass nights hehe, and now? Just me at my typewriter (yeah I said it, typewriter), with a glass of scotch and the TV on mute. Remembering everything I've seen on the job as a cop drove me to be a private investigator. Where do I even start? There was this hot Philly, and I mean smoking hot, legs for days, bright blue eyes, and a rack that would make a 12 point buck jealous. She comes knocking on my door, you know the one, the door with the glass pane that says "Private dick".  I mean "Private Detective for hire". Just a little levity there folks, we'll have a lot to say about dicks later.  Anyhew, this tall drink of sparkling water crossed my threshold looking to pin a tail on her donkey to see whose he's oats he's been sowing.