Grab the mail as you pull into the driveway, start microwaving a frozen tray of brown, dark brown and yellow calories, and pour yourself a stiff drink...before searching in vain for anything recorded on TV. Friday night for a single man, you'll drink to that.There wasn't much point in leaving work on time anyways you told yourself, why rush home to this? It's been the routine since your daughter Kylie left for school, studying painting at Boston Institute of Arts.The house seemed so immensely. This is work, honey. You gottahave the right focus to work up here, between your ears. Now, now,it's okay. It's okay. Yes. That's it." She let Fran work her waythrough the sobbing and reached out to bring a part of the bed sheetthat wasn't splattered with lube or cum or spit or piss and wiped thetears on Fran's cheeks."Fran, babe, listen to me. Look at me honey. Look at me. Honey, ifyou can wrap your mind around all that. If you can keep yourself wholeinside while those shitheads are. More

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