I sat in the corner, facing the door with my back against the wall. I leaned right into the shadow, my felt hat casting my features into ambiguity. I slid the compact H&K .45 under the napkin, ordered a Cafe Mocha and waited.Soon enough he walked in the door. His hat perched on his long curly hair, neatly trimmed beard centered under a full mustache, dark gales of hair thrusting themselves up through the V neck of his shirt.He moved quickly and impulsively, pausing now and then in complete stillness as if to sample the air about him, then launching again with an unexpected quickness, only to alight in frozen expectation once again. He went, eventually, to the bar, and asked Sandra a few pointed questions. Finally, exasperated, she looked back at me. I shrugged and nodded,and she pointed me out to the stranger.He approached in a weird, indirect pattern, seemingly interested simultaneously in everything and nothing, always working his way back toward my table, until, at last, he alighted, sitting delicately in the other wooden chair. He glanced around as if to make sure he wasn't caught in a trap, and leaned forward. "I'm Harry Fly. Bizarre Harry Fly to those in the biz. You wanted to talk? Ok. The meter is running. Say your piece, tough guy".
I can't say I'm surprised that the other flies won't acknowledge their bizarre terrible and hairy relation.
I suspect they're all full of sh!t!~
I am not entirely sure that Substance McG is a fully accredited member of the Entomology Blogging Guild. May I see your papers, brother?
Post updated FOR JERKS.
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