the wandering minstrel paused in his tale.
outside, the wind was roaring more furiously than ever, after a brief respite.
i hope i am not boring you, the minstrel,addressed the hit man, the hooker and the dictator.
not at all, the dictator assured him, i am sure i speak for all of us when i say we are rapt in fascination to hear what happens next.
absolutely, the hooker agreed.
the hit man nodded agreement as well.
my glass is empty, the minstrel noted. iff you please. i would like to refill it before continuing.
oh, permit me, the dictator cried, reaching for the minstrel’s glass.
thank you, the minstrel replied with a smile, but i like to give the barman precise instructions myself.
of course, the dictator replied, withdrawing his hairy hand.
the three listeners watched the minstrel’s back as he stood up and walked over to the bar, where the mustachioed barman appeared to be dozing.
his story reminds me of one i heard myself, the hooker announced to the hit man and the dictator.
well then, let us hear it by all means! the dictator exclaimed.
i am all ears, the hit man added. after all, we have all night, if not longer, judging by the unabated fury of the storm outside.
the hooker took a sip of her espresso and commenced.
this is a tale i heard from my nurse, when i was a princess.
old nurses are the best sources of stories, the dictator noted.
oh, the hooker smiled, she was not so old as that. in fact, she was not much older than myself.
indeed, the hit man murmured.
just then there was a loud exclamation from the minstrel, who had reached the bar.
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