“You can’t park here, sir,” he said, resting his foot on my running board.
Imagine: a cop calling me “sir".
“I’ve just blown in,” I said, starting my engine. “It’s taken my breath away. Boy! This certainly looks good.”
The cop grinned. “It gets you, don’t it?” he said. “I gaped plenty when I first arrived.”
“It sure does,” I said. “Look at those dames. They make me feel I have X-ray eyes, and that’s something I’ve always wanted. I’m scared to look away in case I miss something.”
“You should see ’em on the beach,” the cop said wistfully. “They’re no more self-conscious than a tree.”
’That’s the way I like my women.”
“So do I,” the cop said, shaking his head, “but it doesn’t add up to anything here, except a strained eyesight’ and a stiff neck.”
“You mean they’re hard to make?”
He whistled. “Takes a piano mover to throw ’em over.”