Fucking An Indian Aunty
”The roof of the building started coming up to them quickly as Deakins circled it once and placed them in the center of the pad.“Here ya go. I’ll hold at the airport for a little while after fueling before I head back to Dallas. Hit me up if you guys need a ride back,” he said, handing Taylor a card with his number on it.“Thanks, man.”“Thank Albert. I owe that man, big, so when he asks for me to give someone a ride...” he said with a shrug.“Still, thanks,” Taylor said, shaking his hand.Whitaker was already at the roof door, and Taylor jogged to catch up. The lights in the building were low, probably because it was still running off of generators. As they entered the roof access, past the small booth that served as the building’s control room for helicopters, they saw Rollins coming towards them with another man in tow.“What are you two doing here?” he asked, seeming confused. “And what’s with the helicopter?”“What? We called, talked to an Agent Dillon. He said he’d pass the message. . Actually, I had to admit, it really was a good hairbrush. But that was hardly the point.I added it to my order. Of course, it was the only item on the order.The website then took me to a category list of hairbrushes. I was about to complete the order when I noticed another picture right next to the picture of "my" hairbrush. It was the very next brush in the array of pictures.It was an absurd picture - a picture that absolutely, positively could not be appearing on my screen at that exact moment.Yet, I could see that the new picture was simply the next product in their catalog. "My" hairbrush was something-or-other-01 and this other one was something-or-other-02.How in the Hell... ? What twisted, demented, cruel, BASTARD would do such a thing?What kind of a sick joke was this?Then I remembered what web site I was surfing, and had to accept the obvious truth. The second hairbrush really was my husband's hairbrush. The company was huge and sold stuff through "the lady down the street".
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