I changed strip clubs again. A rolling stone gathers no moss, they say. Who would want moss? I want money. Anyway, I am at one of the many topless joints again and my panties are staying on. Certain times of the month are challenging for the all-nude stripper. Who wants a tiny white rope dangling from their slit while dancing onstage? I am positive that there are customers who would love to see that sort of thing, but I won’t be the one to give them the satisfaction. Yes, one can cut the string but it still doesn’t feel right. One time I had an unfortunate accident with a pair of scissors when I was rushing to snip a string. Scissors don’t belong near vaginas. Trust me on this one.
So, anyway, I am quite exhausted from all the work this week. There is a concrete convention in town and, hence, several thousand extra people who will need a piece of Justice. My feet are blistering and my chest is scratched by unshaven faces, but it is all very profitable. I’ve gathered several paper bills and not a bit of moss.