As we ate, a bombshell of a woman sprawled languidly on a couch nearby. She wore a miniature cocktail dress that made her long legs look neverending. She held a small Crock-Pot before her, spooning its contents into her precious, lipsticked mouth.
As she enjoyed this repast against a backdrop of undulating nudity and the blaring horns of Jay-Z's "Money Ain't a Thang," it was tough not feel as though the people of Boca are missing out. And hey, even half-starved dancers need to eat sometime.
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