The bloke who served me my coffee this morning scratched his left nipple three times.
The third time he really lingered on it and grimaced.
I’m not certain…
but as I turned to walk away I thought I saw a wet spot on his shirt.
I felt just a little bit ill and…
the image lingers.
There is nothing I can do to erase it.
I am drinking a hot cup of hairy nipples right now.