She awoke to the sound of someone laughing. If it had been a jolly laugh or even a burst of climactic levity at the end of a good dirty joke, Margaret would have remained fast asleep in the hot tub the whole night. As it turned out, this type of laughter was neither. This was the type of laughter that curtailed flesh, turned hair instantly white, and set women into premature labor. It was the laughter of a man a few stories above her hanging by the railing of his balcony, peering out over into the darkness below.
He wore nothing save for a checkered speedo. She knew instantly who it was. Even at this height, without her glasses on, she recognized the bulbous belly garnished by a white happy trail of ringlet fur, and that beard --
Again the man howled a...
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