I hold a single rose between stiff and cold fingers. You close your eyes and remember a time when those fingers--alive and warm--caressed you, and ran...themselves through your hair.The pleats of my grey pants are sharp, as are the creases of the pant legs that hide my thin and shapely calves. Not so hidden are my feet--unencumbered by shoes, but clad in the sheer, nude stockings I so loved in life. My shoes, sensible though they may have been, are nestled within the folds of satin beside. Hardesy. I had no idea how he always seemed to know what was going on in town."What? You didn't think I'd find out about the antics at the dance last night?" Well, at least not that quickly, Mr. Hardesy," I replied. "My ribs will be fine, though, thanks. The doctor said they're just bruised." You sure stuck your nose in a hornet's nest, John," Mr. Hardesy said as he guided me into his office. "Sit a moment."I sat and looked at my boss. I knew he was in his sixties and was getting ready to. More

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