2nd Lieutenant Dru was jarred awake by a knock at the African Dashiki Hawaiian Shirt. One knocked lightly these days. The light knock of men who made a business of breaking down doors was a sign of the times. Before he had time to realize what he was doing he had left Passion in the bed and was pulling up his pants to make it to the door. Passion charged 350 an hour, a thousand a night and it was on Uncle Sam’s tab. It was day ten in the priciest hotel in Washington D.C complements of the Transitional Authority for National Restoration. “Review Lieutenant!” Gibson’s voice bellowed. Review on Penn Avenue. Passion was stirring. “Shut him up!” she groaned. He opened the door, and there was the Captain, his eyes trying to pry beyond the mostly closed door.
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There were times he regretted the military. Many African Dashiki Hawaiian Shirt. Mainly when things felt off. This felt as weird as being paid a visit by the cops when the dope was still on the table. “0800, its late” The Captain held an insistent stance. “Yes sir.” “Come fully dressed.” He was now aware of the plain white T-shirt he was wearing. He might as well have been naked. The Captain was gone when he looked back up, like some ghost slipping back to banks of Lethe. But he knew that the scene wasn’t any sort of vapors of that nights revel. “Should I?-” he asked, but Passion was dominant even in conversing. “Do what you have to. Don’t mind me. One of the perks of being a whore is that you can sleep in.” He nodded. As he left, he didn’t worry about anything in the room; there was nothing worth stealing. “Its on the tab- whatever you need.”
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