That was her.
She was carrying a handbag.
Inside it, was her pet.
'Let me fucking out of here.'
Even I could hear Frank Russel screaming from deep inside her purse.
He had to be her genie.
Ho Fat was working the crowd.
Jack Russel was her good luck charm.
She couldn't work the crowd without him being nearby.
She knew it made him dog mad jealous.
Ho Fat was a creation of Steve Cartwright.
She was proud of the fact that someone would bother to size up her boobs and stilettos and write about her so glowingly.
'Let me out of here, damn you.'
Ho Fat just gently poked Jack in the eye and he soon shut up.
Meanwhile, Kafka was crawling in the corner, now up a table leg before jumping on a very long honey tanned leg which led the cockroach to the promised land.
'It's really not bad being a cockroach,' he said, as he slipped under the panties and towards the warm moist spot.
The sexy little Filipino vixen, another working girl at LA Cafe, stood up in embarrassment and pulled down her pink silky panties so Kaftka could slip out unharmed.
The punters, many of them old farts resting on the stools near the pool table, turned their lecherous eyes towards the lady flashing her muff.
Seriously they thought the show was exclusively for them.
'He's always pulling that shit off,' said Cindy, who seemed to know Kafka. 'He just couldn't get away with that shit in Thailand, though,' she added, 'they deep fry him for a snack.'
It didn't take long for Frank, Stan and Kumar to join the table in the corner.
Frank really needed to have a word with his conjoined twin, Stan wanted to see if Ho Fat's stilettos were really a weapon and Kumar wanted a few rounds with Cindy.
'Not on my shift,' said Kafka.
That's when the midgets and the con men, dwarfs and homeless of Mabini street and Manila Bay gate crashed LA Cafe.
Frank loved dramatic entries.
'Everyone out,' said management, as all the punters and working girls were ushered outside. The only hoes allowed to stay were Cindy and Ho Fat.
Frank believed sharing was caring. He'd fucked over Stan and Kumar, so a night feeding the poor at LA Cafe seemed the right thing to do. The manager could almost retire for a month on what Frank was paying him. Money, if you had it, could really open doors.
Bacchanalia, dressed up in Halloween garb, wasn't far away either.
'Let the party begin,' said Frank who rang the bell, 'first round is on Stan and Kumar.'
It just seemed the right thing to do.