The next morning Rollins came out wearing only a tiny pair of athletic shorts – tattoos and muscles on full display. Freda and Juliana ogled him shamelessly as he made fun of my canvas sneakers and pressured me to come lift weights in his garage. I politely declined. He asked me to make a pot of coffee and, assuming Rollins drank a strong brew, I heavy-handed it to the tune of approximately double-strength. I handed him a cup and he took a sip and immediately spat it in the sink. “You call this COFFEE??” he bellowed. “Pour that shit out and I’ll show you how to brew a MAN’S pot of coffee!!!” His brew was about three times as strong as mine, and it kept me in a manic state of agitation for the entire visit.
Created
August 17, 2012 17:38
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