Ten twelve-minute miles.I sat in the front seat of Nanette’s car and reached for my Kindle before spotting a book shoved between the seats. Zen and ...he Art of Running. I leafed through the book and found that running and meditation were closely linked by this author. Apparently, that was what I’d been doing.“Been waiting long?” Nanette asked as she jogged up to the car. I glanced at the time on my phone.“No. About twenty minutes is all. Did you cut your run short?”“Are you kidding? I felt good. ”I slowly turn. He gives me a hard stare. His hand is rubbing his package. I face him again.“Put your hands behind your neck.”“Okay.”I place my hands up and behind my neck. I feel my breasts lift. The Tinder guy looks hard at me his hand still on his package. I look at him. There is a bulge. I am pleased.“I want you to suck me?”“Okay.”He takes it out. It is impressive. It's long and it's really hard. I kneel. I lick. I suck. In and out. In and out. It tickles the back of my. ..". Great, she's funny too. "Let you lead? And give up the last bastion of male dominance in the world? Never!" She smiles at me, and I take up the heavy burden of leadership once more.After the lesson, when I have changed out of my dancing shoes, and she has changed out of her instruments of terror, she steps up to me again. "I still feel bad about stepping on your foot. Can I try to make it up to you, say, by inviting to you to dinner?" "Well, cliché as it is, but I try never to decline a. My mother had been complaining of her 'indigestion' pain on andoff all day. As she was planning to visit for the weekend, Clairehad arrived in Cardiff around teatime. About an hour and a halfbefore Claire phoned, my mother, complaining of pain in herchest, had apparently turned grey and collapsed. An ambulancerushed her to the emergency department of Cardiff Royal Infirmarywhere it became clear in that she was having a heart attack. Thecardiologists whisked her off for an emergency angioplasty..