It was just after Thanksgiving and Cathy and I were texting back and forth about this and that. She mentioned how moist her turkey had been. ‘One of...the best I’ve ever cooked,’ she typed. ‘Moist is always better,’ I replied. ‘I can’t eat it if it’s not moist.’ We’d never even traded innuendo before, but she caught on to what I was saying. ‘How do you make it moist?’ I asked. ‘Oil,’ was the reply. ‘Coconut.’ ‘I use butter,’ I texted. ‘That would work too,’ Cathy said. ‘But if you’re really good. I awoke sitting on a chair in a hollow sounding room. My head was smothered by some form of rubber-smelling hood, I’d fixed enough cycle tyres to know that smell! I was blinded but my nose had two small snotty holes I could breathe through along with an open mouth. My ears, though covered were still keen as my voice echoed in that large blank room.“Hello… Any?” I closed my mouth. In more than an hour, well a long time, I had received no reply as I sat still in that uncomfortable seat with a. More

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