Mafia's Runaway And Pregnant
And that night, nobody wanted to cough up the extra cash to make them care.
I park my car along the curb. The last belted-out lyrics about dancing the night away are cut off abruptly when I open my door. Topher’s Lounge is squat, like a hulking gargoyle with its old stone. Blue lights flash through the curved windows, outlining the bodies of the people hovering outside. There’s a cloud of smoke around the group. One of them whistles at me as I pass and I ignore him, not bothering to roll my eyes.
I’m not even dressed in anything revealing, just jeans, low red heels, and a white tank-top.
Bab Populer