A succession of ticks, twitches, involuntary movements, and lip-licking, to drive a portrait artist crazy. A face constantly saying something, but bet...aying nothing. Maddening to try to understand a face like that. Better just to accept that it doesn’t tell you anything, and move on. His body is hidden by several layers of warm, practical clothing. He’s short and wiry without being whisp-thin. You might get a sense of a boxer gone to seed – a formerly razor-sharp set of reflexes dulled by lack. It's just a game we play. Please let me go. Please..." Dan said in a panicked voice."What's your name boy?" asked Jon.Dan looked at the last man, "It's Dan, Sir. Please can I go?" Why did you want to get in here? I want the truth," Jon said glaring down at the kid. It was clear the kid was ready to cry, he was so scared.Dan dropped his head. "My friends talked me into it. It's a game we play. We try to get in to rigs that park here and if we find something good we take it." Where are your. More

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