” I said. She smiled. She reached under her breast on the couch. She pulled out $50 wet dollar bills. She hand me the wet money. I smiled. I t...en got off the couch. I looked down. I kicked off my white shoes. I then watched as she picked up the rest of her money off the floor. She still had $50 left. I slowly pulled off my black shirt. I then walked between her legs. She slowly ran her hands up the back of my thighs. She was starring at the front of my jeans. She then slowly ran. We travel, some of us forever, to seek other states, other lives, other souls.I stopped loving my father a long time ago. What remained was the slavery to a pattern.Each contact with a human being is so rare, so precious, one should preserve it.Living never wore one out so much as the effort not to live.The personal life deeply lived always expands into truths beyond itself.What I cannot love, I overlook. Is that real friendship?The human father has to be confronted and recognized as human, as. More

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