Over The Professor’s Knee
He was German and taught mathematics at the University. Not making much of an income, he was also the landlord of the quaint, brick apartment building, where the budding actress/writer/dancer/and all around dilettante of the arts climbed the worn cement steps and rapped on the door that said room for rent. I'm afraid it's not much, Hans Gustafson told the pretty young woman. She had short dark hair, a little pixie nose, small red painted lips, and a sassy c**k to her head. I'm Louisa French, the girl told him, holding out her hand for him to shake. I'm going to be famous some day, and this place will make a wonderful memory for my published diary, I'm sure. Hans wanted to laugh, instead his eyes just twinkled with delight. I'll show
