Table dances at twenty dollars a pop, can put one in the poor house very quickly.“How much?” I asked.“Twenty dollars,” she replied.“No,” I...replied, “I want more than a rub or a tug.”“We can’t do that in here,” she whispered, her hand resting on my crotch, her fingers pressing against the budge in my jeans.“You can, if you want to,” I pressed.“Oh, I’d love to,” she said, “But if we get caught, I could get fired. Plus, how do I know you’re not a cop?”“You don’t,” I replied, looking at the dancer. After grabbing his bottle of water from his car, he went over to Mr. Foreman’s truck to wait for him to return. The apartment complex was a huge job with over five hundred units represented in it, and it wasn’t the largest job that Mr. Foreman had contracted to build.It was about thirty minutes later when Mr. Foreman returned to his truck. Seeing that the roofers had left, he asked, “What in the hell are you doing toting bundles of shingles up to the roof?”“Well, I noticed something a little. More

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