Desi Devar Bhabi Fun

Bob was tired, too, even though he'd slept half the afternoon, and he had to give a paper the next morning.The weather forecast was iffy. There was this zillion-gallon pile of crud off the coast; if it came in, we'd get wet; if not, it would only be gray. So Beth and I decided that if it wasn't raining when we got up, we'd go to St. Armand's Circle, where all the fancy stores are, and shop. Steve was going to plug in his laptop and sell oil to some Arabs or something. Bob, who was leaving early to make his conference, would pick Steve up and they would meet us around one.No rain in the morning, so off we went. Beth being crazy, she's great to shop with. At her office she wears her accountant suit--the whole dress-for-success thing--and sensible heels and hair tastefully arranged and a little red scarf at her neck to indicate she's still aware she's a woman. Not that anybody else would miss it for a minute. But once she's out of there she might look like anything, as long as it's. Ah yes, that must be it, not far now! And there it was, the main building on the right where the waiters emerged with plates precariously balanced as they carried the meals to the diners across the road. It looked exactly as he remembered, those same blue chairs – though this should not be a surprise, given that so many tavernas in Greece have them – and the flowers. Then Steve heard the music. As he took a seat he wondered if the sound was from the very same tape as last time. Why shouldn’t it be, it wasn’t new then, except perhaps now it was a CD. Within seconds of sitting down he felt the familiar irritation of the chair sticking into both legs just behind his knees. It was just like back then, except there was no one across the table. He hoped the food would be as fantastic as before! He was never an intellectual but he remembered a character from the ‘Peanuts’ cartoon strip saying Thomas Wolfe (he thought) was right ‘You can’t go home again.’ Steve always took this to mean, you.
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