![]() ![]() You wonder how girls like that sit down without perforating their buttocks. For some reason, he looks strangely familiar, though I can’t begin to place him. A crowd gathers instantly one or two actually throw coins, clearly under the impression this is staged entertainment. “You’re bloody welcome to each other! She’ll never leave her husband, you know that, don’t you? I hope she makes you fucking miserable!” I wince as she slaps his face with a crack that echoes around Covent Garden. “You’re talking to her now, aren’t you? Nobody dumps me, you shit!” “You fucking bastard!” the girl yells at the cute guy. ![]() Without even bothering to apologize, she ricochets off my admittedly pneumatic chest and springs toward the (very cute) guy who’s followed her out, a tiny cell phone still clamped to his ear. As we reach the far side of the piazza, the general vague thrum of background chatter suddenly distills into the distinct sound of (female, screechy) yelling, and the next moment I’m nearly knocked off my feet as a skinny blond girl in chocolate suede hotpants and bronze kinky boots barrels out of a nearby shop and straight into me. ![]()
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