“Where are you man?” she asked when I slipped out of her and lit a L&M Red Label.
I took a cold Stella Artois out of the fridge and poured myself a J&B. Straight. No ice. A blend of the purest old Scotch whiskies.
“Are you okay?” she asked.
“Sure,” I replied, “I was just wondering if being an aristocrat in hell beats being a slave in heaven.”
“Yes. I know. By the way, you can have a shower if you want but then you’ll have to leave. I’m watching the World Championship cycling today.”
“You are such an asshole.”
For once I didn’t reply.