PlushChapter 2
"Where to, boss?' I asked semi-humorously. She was my boss after all. "Home, James," she responded with mock regality. "Whose?" I asked. "I suppose you live in an apartment," she asked. "The best an itinerant song and dance man with his first gig in over a year and a waiter at a rock and roll club where the clientele rarely tips more than a quarter can afford. In other words enough to stretch out and sleep and little else." "That's a lot," she said, her eyes sweeping over my...