His short cropped hair was just turning grey. "Man, you have some big hands there. I bet you have a big dick too." "It's big enough I guess." Art wond...red where the comment came from, but the alcohol in his brain missed the nuance of its meaning. "I bet your wife likes it. Too bad most wives won't suck cock." "Yeah, mine won't. She thinks it's nasty." "She wont suck it ever?" "Just on my birthday." "When's your birthday?" "January. It's March now." Art was laughing at the irony. "Damn," the man. He wanted them to feel the pain of loss – not so personal as his, perhaps, but he wanted them to feel lives slipping through their fingers.He lifted up the picture which had adorned his desk from the beginning. She was a beautiful young woman with bright brown eyes, soft brown hair and a face which should have been gracing the covers of vids – definitely not gracing the covers of MIA reports. Or Death notices. She had been so young – too young to have fallen. Too young to have been left. More

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