But there is a nearly infinite variety of "letters" mags, at least there was, back in the 80's when I was in college (nowadays, the fabulous internet ...as probably devastated their former high levels of circulation). They existed and flourished in every conceivable niche of the kinkosystem, from bondage to scat, from swinging to incest.One day, I was leaving my downtown temp job, and decided to pick a few new bits of fodder for my overactive imagination at my favorite newsagent, just past where. We identified ours. All of us had tears streaming down our faces. Betty and Sharon half collapsed and needed my support to walk out of the morgue.I asked the man in charge if he knew a good funeral home. "Yes," he said and then scrabbled in a notebook for their number.We thanked him and left. Outside, I called the funeral home and started the process. Looking at our group, I said, "I'll call our lawyer's office and set it up so we can see him tomorrow. We've all suffered enough for today." They. The back of the school bordered a freeway, so no one usually went back there unless they were trying to get drunk or high during school. After school the place vacated quick though. I arrived in the dark area and waited for a few minutes. Bella was nowhere to be seen. Was it even Bella I was here to meet? I could have sworn she was the one to pass me the note but then again there was no confirmation it was her. Maybe it was a stupid joke and somebody somewhere was laughing right now? I didnt. Maine usse thodi unchi awaz mein bola, “Ye tum kya kar rahi ho, chori kar rahi ho?”Woh darr gayi aur kaapne lagi. Mere haath pair jodne lagi aur bheek maangne lagi ke mujhe maaf kar do, please jaane do. Main bola aise kaise jaane du chori ka samaan nikalo aur main abhi police ko phone karta hu. Yeh sun kar woh aur darr gayi aur rone lagi.Mere pairo pe gir gayi aur bolne lagi, “Nahi, please police ko mat bulao. Tum jo bolo main kar dungi lekin poice ko mat bulao.” Uska ye dialogue sun kar mere.