Zug Zug

She had a body built of extremes, the sort of form that reached through your eyes, knocked on the door of your primitive brain, and punched you in the face. I wasn't worried at the time; she wasn't my type. I've always liked the girl that takes my soul, puts it in a glass jar, and spends her spare time balancing it along with the other jars she's collected. Girls like that don't have much focus - good for a me, my type.

I don't really see many of them unless they're rich, and that type of girl doesn't get rich except by mistake.

So this extreme women walks through the door. The had intern quit after his mother saw the office, so she walked past his vacant desk and into my room, the only other door in this two room converted apartment.

"Hi, I'm Max. I assume you don't have an appointment?"