I’m hosting a party, and my slaves are here to do a job. One is an ashtray, the other merely a tongue to clean the heels and dirty feet of my guests. They do not talk. They do not move. They are objects and they will be treated as such. They are here to worship every Woman that walks in and out of my patio. If one drop of ash is found at the end of the night, or one Woman complains of aching feet or dirty shoes – there will be hell to pay.
