They went to have lunch at the small bar that was left. Frank Sinatra looked at their waiter, whose name was Adrian, with a flair,
“We don’t serve steak and potatoes any more. We have a wonderful salmon garni.” The dishes come as just a dollop. Frank Sinatra explodes. “Thirty fuckin dollars for this? Where’s your manager?”
The three young ladies at the bar were looking, but not to flirt. “Creeps, Cave men in suits,” one muttered.
The manager came out with security. “Gentlemen, you have to leave.”
“We’ve been thrown outta better joints and we built Vegas.”
“Not your Vegas any more.”
- Merry Maudlin Monday w/The Rat Pack (thetemenosjournal.wordpress.com)
- The Content of Their Character (carolynquinn.wordpress.com)