Like I said, I get the impression that I’m not her type.” In a voice that seemed, at least to his hyper-active imagination, dripping with innuendo... “You’re definitely _my_ type, Jahn.” Yea, he thought hysterically. That’s what she said. Holy shit, not even a daydream. Or was it? Fuck, he thought, frantically backtracking in his head. No, she’d said it. *** The week that followed was like a drug-induced dream sequence. Not only did they hit it off on the first date, but Jenny couldn’t seem to. Her dress was a sophisticated black sheath, simple and tasteful, but obviously from Saks or Bergdorf's.Suzanne had a passing mental image of Donald's mother, seated in her rundown apartment on Forest Avenue, her hair hanging in rat-tails, her coarse features devoid of makeup, and her breasts swinging obscenely under her cotton shift, while her bare feet rested on the torn linoleum rug, and the woman's drawling Kentucky accents echoed in her ears... "Work? I dunno. There ain't much I can do.. More

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