They struck the traditional pose--elbows in, wrists out. I recognized decorators when I saw them. “ Mornin’, boys,” I grunted. “What brings you to this side of town?” They were a stereotype waitin’ for a bus. The blonde California-boy was wearing a pink button-down tied up around his midriff. The Latin egg was draped in red leather, and the muscle was a huge black man with a shaved head and I didn’t want to know what else. “ Do not toy wis us,” said the egg, in broken English with just a hint of a lisp. “It is WE who are in charge of the coloration project.” “ Settle down boys,” I said. “Have a squirt of eel juice.” I pulled four glasses out of my top drawer, spit in them and wiped ‘em out with my used handkerchief. I watched the boys shudder as I poured myself a shot. “ No sank you,” snarled the egg. “My name is Raoul.” “ And who are your friends?”
What do You think about The Soprano Wore Falsettos?
