I didn’t exactly have high expectations when I went to the party that evening. I had met mr. Lindell on several occasions before and I didn’t look forward to seeing him again.

He was an awful person. A greedy and ruthless man with very little on his mind besides himself, money, and suspiciously well-shaped 25-year-old girls. If you couldn’t assist him in some of these aspects, you were basically air to the mighty mr. Lindell.

This meant that to get his attention, you either had to lick his ass shamelessly and give him promises you ultimately wouldn’t be able to keep, or you could confront him bluntly — that is, threaten to take something away from him.

At precisely eight o’clock, the usher rang his bell and people got seated. I ended up sitting next to a 60-year old former beauty queen who apparently had some serious issues with her facial expressions.

(Based on an exercise generated by WriteThis - 17.06.2009 22:45:40)

Yup, it’s now a writer’s blog. Just another way to keep up on my English, I guess. Or boredom.