Little Big Sandy

An old I.O.U. fell out of a book I was moving from one of our thousand boxes. It didn’t need a name. It had a kiss print on the back. Little Sandy was her name. An old flame? Are you kidding? She wouldn’t of been caught dead with me. She went for the Neanderthal type. He’d better be tough. After the Chinese theatre incident, I always called her, ‘Little big Sandy’. We had just come out from seeing the Dustin Hoffman flick, ‘Little big Man’. Not any way a date. We just saw it together, three seats between us. It was still early. About eight pm. My gal pal had been in a good mood. She had the evening off from her after hours bar, ‘The fifth base’. Too bad we had to bump into Paul the flake. He was in line to see the next showing. He tried the turn and look away escape. Nope. Sandy has spotted him. He made the mistake of not running. He owed her a two hundred dollar bar tab…As she attacked him verbally, he made a big mistake. He sneered at her. Now, I’ve known a lot of women with nails. Sandys were like a fighting bulls. Short, blunt, and filed to points. She gave old Paul a quick taste on his face. He jerked her off her feet by her levi jacket sleeve and dumped her on her butt, right next to John Wayne’s foot prints (Cowboy boots, about a size 18) Me? I stayed way back. I didn’t know what was going to happen, but I knew Paul wasn’t going to be the same in a few seconds. Sandy came up off that cement like she had a giant spring in her ass. She also had one of her steel tipped high heels in her right hand. Her left hand got a death grip and Paul got a new mug. Plain clothes cops in the crowd saved Paul’s life. As Paul started to scream for Sandy to be arrested, both plain clothes cops give him the, ‘Get moving’! look. Paul blows, fading into the crowd. The cops smile at Sandy. We head for my truck. They had tabs too…

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