It was humiliating.He couldn't figure it out. For more than a month now he'd been putting the wood to Marcy like John Henry drove railroad spikes. All...fucking day long, day after day. He felt like he had been reborn, come into his own, his virility greater than when he had been a pimply-faced teenager. Then today, when he had strutted in and slapped down his new Gold Card, he had taken three of the most expensive whores upstairs, booking them for two hours. They had fucking fallen asleep. Nothing that is until he reached the back of the store. There among toasters and other random relics of a by-gone era sat what could only be called a genie's lamp.Now, John was no fool. He knew damn well genies were not real but he also felt a strange urge to buy this lamp. It just needed a good polish and it could probably fetch double or more from some antiques dealer. John picked up the deceptively heavy lamp and carried it to the register to buy it. The little old man behind the counter. More

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