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DROP EIGHT
DROP EIGHT “Are you serious about this?” Pickle asked, tilting her head to the side. He had called her up to discuss business. “For the last time, yes! We’re halfway there right now, might as well go all-in.” Hector gestured the equivalent gambler’s motion on the table, pushing all his chips to the centre. Pickle leaned back. “Okay. We obviously need to hire three more girls.” “Agreed,” Hector nodded. There was a long pause. “Well? Which ones?” Pickle asked, impatient. Hector shrugged. “I don’t know! It’s your call, I trust your judgement.” “That’s the thing, this is the owner’s job. You know, schmoozing around, drinking, trading girls as if they’re collectible cards. It’s a boy’s club.” “Okay, you decide which girls to approach, and I’ll go… schmooze, or whatever.” Pickle started
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