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.