Life as a cop had perks for my wildest imagination…
“I always wanted to do it in phone booth,” Charlene had whispered.
“I know just the place,” I replied.
Her legs strapped across my motorcycle, it was game-on until we arrived at the box.
“Are you crazy,” she screamed.
“It’s okay,” I asssured her. “We have an exhibition at the fair. The box on 7th Street is a demo.”
Her smile said it all. She rushed to the box and opened its doors.
I was surprised when the blue light on top flashed, but my leather jacket easily covered it. Besides, I knew there were no surveillance cameras in the demos.
Our romp dizzied me until we swung open the doors afterward. It was then I saw the sign for 8th Street overhead. My worst fears were confirmed when I realized the word ‘demo’ was nowhere on the box.
People on the force called me ‘Sweet Cheeks’ whenever our paths crossed in my next job at the coffee house.