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It was summer. Therefore, it was hot. I dragged my feet across the hot timbers of the boardwalk, sweating, on my way to work. I hated that job, absolutely hated it. The tourists were rude; the bosses were abusive, the air conditioning nonexistent.
I forgot about all that while passing The Hot Sun, an outdoor bar. It was lined with a row of women that made me stop and bite my knuckle. They all faced the bar, ignoring everyone. I had never seen such a row of callipyian women. The thongs they wore vanished between the sweet cheeks they possessed.