super 160's

Yesterday I was kind of in a bad way. I had taken a shot of sugar like snow dumped into the blood, but it just wasn’t hitting me the way I wanted it to. So I was stuck: half high, half low. What to do? What to say? Simple. What to do? Go to tailor. What to say? Tino take in this jacket, I want to look sexy!

Working Boy: Tino take in this jacket, I want to look sexy!
Tino: You want me to take in?
W.B: Yes Tino, take it in.
T: How much, this much.
W.B: More Tino! More!
T: Okay, another ¼ inch under the arm.
W.B: Damnit Tino, in! No excuses, what do I almost pay you for? I want people to think I’m a heroin addict who wears children’s clothes.
T: But Working Boy, I-
W.B: Tino, my shriveled old friend, I’m in a bad way and I fear without a finely tailored blazer, well, well I just might die.
T: But Working Boy, I-
W.B: More! More!
T: It can’t go anymore. Please stop it too much you look like New York City homosexual.
W.B: Codlewop! Look at this picture I took from a fashion mag. Look how tight and small this blazer is!
T: But he looks stupide! Do you really want to look like that?
W.B: Are you kidding? I’d kill for his eyelashes!
T: Please stop you making Tino’s shop look like den of New York homosexuals.
W.B: Curse this midwestern fashion-hole and it's mac and cheese mentality! When will I be free of this stifling environment and run free in the accepting fields of haute couture?!