A wicked, detestable girl. A gin-soaked wreck of maiden's fair promise. A braying slattern, fit only to be the lowest of orange-girls.
I had a martini lunch. Admittedly, only one martini, but still. I feel so . . . well, I feel '60s sophisticated, 1740s antiquated/degraded, and 00's medicated.
Gin martini, straight up, with a twist.
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