The contrast of dishwasher and beautiful girl had a wicked effect on my libido, luckily it was curbed by the dulcet tones of some country music before anyone could see me with my pants down.

But then, like a lighting I realized my thoughts were leading me to sin, and the sin would have given me a short term satisfaction in exchange to guilt, disgrace and embarrassment. I didn't have to be seen by someone to feel embarrassed - myself and God was enough, and Jolly was just the girl who was washing the dishes in that Big Italian restaurant in Detroit, and had no idea what was going through my mind while watching her.

As I pondered Jolly's grassy hill, God and my compremising position in a Californian red oak, I leaned towards post-modern interpretation of religion and had, what I fealt at the time, a short but manly fap.

I decided to down & out some Spike Lee tomato soup.

And here, my dreamy story changes completely because of my edgy memory. The hard thing about telling a story is when you don't really know the beginning, and that's exactly how I felt.

My teeth were all cheesy from eating cheetos, and I was all hot & sweaty from my girlfriend making me help her with her evil stamp collecting.

I could have used a shower, but the hot & cold knobs were broken. The lack of decent facilities reminded me of my time back in Vietnam, 1968.

Ah yes, just like that time in Hiroshima, 1945. The mice were respectable, but the clerk at the hotel was just too tall, and his smile was too phony.

So I took out my photograph of the Pyramids in Egypt and laid it on the counter-top. The reaction from the clerk was brutal. He reached behind the counter and pulled out a can of hairspray and a lighter and proceeded to incinerate the photograph. Laughing as he stowed his gear, he explained that his loving grandmother taught him to be expressive.