To bad it was the only thing she could recognize. Mimi pushed the paper away and turned her head to the beautiful chocolate skinned goddess, in a gorg...ous floor length gown made of rags, who stood on the generically lit stage, gently forcing her melodic poem on the ears of the unappreciative coffee shop patrons. ‘Why come to poetry hour and not listen?’ Mimi said to herself, taking a healthy sip of her caramel latté. ‘No one listens anymore, but than why should they.’ She took a long pull from. The phone calls started about nine, and they happened in every house in which a Winkle, or a former Winkle lived. The media can dig up fascinating information on the average citizen when they put their minds to it, and all of Bob's immediate offspring, and grandchildren were identified and contacted for "comment". It would be too complicated to go into the story of each of the males his sleeping body produced in his wife and daughters. Suffice it to say there were seven, and that they had all. More

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