“Some juice tricked on to her chin.”
A lady who does launderette work and a larger lady who cleans a primary school as dayjobs, with their later-in-the-day creativity, like the suspension of disbelief in fiction itself, of titillating talk on the telephone with men, raising their libidos for money. How they could be assured they got subsequent payment, not sure. But better than the street walking they used to do, and they being not sexy enough for men these days, anyway, in their middle age, I guess. And all this happened in Belfast during the Troubles. But why the ‘Men Only’ mag? And why the plums that gave the juice becoming pumice stones at the end? Amusing, salacious common-speak, but it made me keep tuning the story’s wireless not for better-speak but for short-wave morse code as to such literature’s meaning, as is my wont. ‘Hengy-hee oung.’ Better the fadings-out of Radio Luxembourg and its ‘The World Tomorrow’, I guess. When true love blossomed. And religion, if not religious wars, died out.
“We should get a pair of bellows for fellas like him. Save my puff.”
***
full context of this review: https://dflewisreviews.wordpress.com/35138-2/
Shadows & Elbows 
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