Loquiphobia

He’d been shopped around to every prom and bat-mitzvah. No fear of the date who’d gab only about himself, ’67 Mustangs, or screwing. No way he’d dump you by the punchbowl for skinny Mary-Kay, no shouting matches over The Beatles’ break-up. Didn’t matter if you were fat, cratered with acne, varicose-veined. Prompt to your door, […]