The east coast's foremost coke dealer just came and went.

He loves to call in Sunday brunch to go. And I hate myself for it, but I recognized his voice right away.

And none of us can ever figure out why, but we all get excited when he pulls up in his not terribly spectacular Porsche.

He looks more haggard as the years progress, but you can tell that once upon a time he must have been dashing.

In a drug dealer sort of way.

His voice is more scratchy cigarettes than caramel now.

And he doesn't even know our names (although he does recognize our faces), so he calls us all "dear."

He wished us a Happy New Year.

We tittered about it.

I even put on extra lip gloss before he arrived.

Not that he noticed.

betholindo at 12:24 p.m.

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