I was never sure if her stories were true or not, but I loved them anyway. Tales of her childhood in various homes in Andalusia; busking with her gyp...y family, playing three-card-tricks, and cheating money from the outsiders who came to the fiesta. Her father the agitator, was pulled from a secret communist meeting by Franco's troops, and was never seen again. Then, leaving her home at the age of eighteen she made her way to Barcelona, dancing flamenco in bars and clubs. After a few years she. There was one I really liked, his name was Coy, I followed him around everywhere. Usually he didn't give me the time of day. But then one day he actually talked to me and asked if I needed help feeding the horses. I told him he could come to the barn and help me with the bale of hay. He said he would, and he followed me to the barn, always a few steps behind. I swear I could feel his eyes staring at my behind the whole way. Once we got to the barn, we went inside and Coy walked all the way. More

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