scrambled legs

“You know,” he told me, “after we made love
she laid in my arms and cried, she said,
‘Oh, my god, I miss him!’
she was talking about you…”

“That’s just the way it is, Jack, with all of
my women:  when I’m with them they hate
me but after I leave they love
me.
I can’t go back to all of them, I don’t even
want to.”

“You don’t mind that I slept with her,
Hank?”

“Did she cook you a good breakfast,
Jack?”

“I don’t remember…”

“well, I’ll tell you:   she didn’t.”

“is that all you were with her for:
breakfast?”

“I never eat breakfast, Jack.”

“Then what happened?”

“Too often, after we had made love, she
began crying in my arms about how she
missed some guy.”

“Well,” he said, “I’ll be a son of a
bitch.”

“Don’t be,” I said, “just pass that bottle
over here…”