yak love
Mike told me before Christmas that he was planning on getting himself a leather trenchcoat. I assumed he was joking.He wasn't.
When we all got back to work the week after the holiday he had it on. It creaked like a rusty hinge and swayed with his movements.
"How many yaks had to die for that coat man?" Tom Vines asked him.
"Dude shut up, this coat is cool."
"Whatever, Columbine. Just keep the guns out of sight." I said.
The next day Tom came in in his new leather coat. It shined at me with the dull lustre of blue steel. I patted him on the back, and it felt more like butter than leather.
"Holy fucking ass, Tom, give me the yak man, I love that thing," I said.
"No way."
I am seriously coveting his coat. I have looked around for someone who sells it but I can't find anyone. It fits me perfectly.
I must have the yak.
I rub it on the back of his chair while he is working.
"OOooohhh, ahhhhh.... love the yak..." I purr at it.
"You really are fucked up." he assures me.
I work quietly for awhile, then I start rubbing it softly again.
"You get a lot of ass in this coat man? Seriously..."
"Man you have problems."
Maybe I do, but I must have that coat.
It will be mine!
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