
“Are you the manager?” she asks, softly stroking his face with both hands.
“Actually, no,” the man replied.
“Can you get him for me? I need to speak to him.” she says, running her hands beyond his beard and into his hair.
“I’m afraid I can’t,” breathes the bartender. “Is there anything I can do?”
“Yes, there is. I need you to give him a message,” she continues, running her forefinger across the bartender’s lips and slyly popping a couple of her fingers into his mouth and allowing him to suck them gently.
“What should I tell him?” the bartender manages to say.
Tell him,” she whispers “there is no toilet paper, hand soap, or paper-towels in the women’s bathroom…”
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