A Beer and a Bang: Gritty Booty Call

Not long after our steamy encounter in the corridor of the Wells Fargo Center, I got a text. It was a few days later. Around one in the morning. I didn’t know the number. I guessed who sent it. “Come here,” it read, and listed an address in deep South Philly.

I texted back. “Be right over,” I wrote. I changed out of my Flyers pajamas and into a sexy dress. No underwear. Exposed to the cold night air, my skin got goosebumps and I shivered. I began to tremble. It had to be Gritty, looking for more action. And now I was about to go to the monster’s lair. What would it be like? Would Gritty talk this time?

Come with me to Gritty’s crib…