It reminded me of how Wes had done the same thing when I’d glared at him for grabbing my bag.Wes. Wes. Wes.It was like he was everywhere, like I was...seeing him in places that he’d never been to, seeing him in my head, in my mind, in my eyes. I felt a deep sense of emptiness, like there were pieces of me missing, like Wes had taken them and kept them for himself. I didn’t even want them back. I just wanted him.We walked back to my car to eat. My car still had the AC running, and for once Rita. A Mrs Francis Roberts, who lived alone with her son in Chestnut Grove, had been unable to sleep after being woken by a disturbance next door in the early hours, ‘a lot of banging and thumping’ as she had put it. Then there was the tinkle of breaking glass which made her go to the bedroom window and look out. But she could see nothing untoward. She remembers looking at her bedside clock which said nearly twenty to two. She said things quietened down and decided to get back into bed. But she. By the time I had pulled my pants on, the doorbell was ringing. Mom took a quick glance around, picked up the forgotten turquoise thong, threw it at me, and made her way to the door.“Pastor Howard, welcome to our home,” said Mom. “Please come in.”The pastor walked into the room and gave it a very examining glance.“You know my son, Ricky, of course.”“Yes. Where are they?” demanded the Pastor.I looked around the room with a quizzical look on my face.“Where is whom?” I asked.My mind was whirling.. .. er his arms behind his back, not that he seemed to bestruggling very much. No, the look on his face showed sometrepidation, but I could tell that it masked something else. Desire.Something deep inside me reacts to this image, for a second I imaginemyself in that position and you know, it feels really good. But I amat work, so try to fight it down and get the job finished.In the next image, I... oh, heck, call it me since that's who it is,is back to kneeling on the floor. Except that this.
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