Making CDs and Love

A fantasy in numbers of unworthy women.
"What's that?"
"It's nothing." Three times well, a nearly deceased method of social chastisement.
Too bad he died like a martyr. Or was it not too bad? He couldn't subscribe to "It's just what the nation needed" but someone else probably might disagree. After all, Franklin was not the one there. He decided to tell the story once again as though it had never been told. "My parents. This is kind of bizarre or it was for me at a time... My parents drove past the place where John Lennon was shot ten minutes before it happened. They drove by the Dakota. They made a point of looking at the building because they had been the night earlier. Some Bernstein party.
"Anyway they had been the night before and now they wanted to see it, so they went. That fuck was waiting in the bushes."
"He never had a daughter," Judy suddenly realized, "I would like to hear what she had to say about him."
You know what entered Franklin's head? "John'd be glad he didn't have a daughter because, well, damn he wouldn't want her going around talking about him to trash!"
Franklin sipped a glass and edged forward, spilt a little onto his chin. "I peed my pants."
"You're retarded." Judy knew that he didn't like being called that. He said he didn't like the word. What a crock of shit, she thought. If they act like whores they call them whores. "Get over it," she added.