Maybe he could return earlier in the day tomorrow and see who showed up near the park bench. What were the chances that the author of the poem would s...ow up just when he happened to be there? And how could he know who she was? He continued walking while he thought of the lonely poem. David reflected on his life, seemingly ordinary on the outside. Nobody could tell from looking at him that he had health troubles. He’d been healthy until about 2 years ago when on the inside his body seemed to. “Really? I thought you might want them off,” I said, cheekily. “Hmmm… you really are smoking hot,” he said, as he traced his fingers around the outline of my breasts. He made a big letter double-u with his index finger and brushed the underside of my bra, which was straining from the weight of my boobs. “At least we’re both late for the interview,” I said as I began to unclip my bra. Mr. Palmer fiddled with his trousers and then drew the zipper down. I’m sure his tongue lolled out of his mouth. More

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