“Let’s go camping. I want to see Mount What’s-its-name.”“There’s no running hot water,” I cautioned. “Or mattress to sleep on.”“I ...on’t care. It’ll be fun! Come on, Gramps. Live a little. Be a rebel!”I laughed with amusement. “Okay. Friday. The day after tomorrow. We need to go into town for supplies this afternoon.”Rachael jumped up. “Why wait till this afternoon? We can have lunch in town. C’mon, move it old man!”Like most things, Rachael took a real interest in camping gear. I’d taken her to. "In English!" I demanded from her, no different than how she used speak to us in her English class."It's in my ass!" she shouted, fully preoccupied by the splitting of her rectum."Why?" I questioned rhetorically. There was no response as she whimpered sharply with every pound into her ass cheeks. By then, the sounds of the man's swinging ball sac slapping her slit was audible even without the use of the speaker."Why is it in your ass?! Because you are a whore!" I announced, now fully consumed. "Then there were the times she liked going out for KTV," she said."What's KTV?" he asked."That's one of the really popular activities there. You go to thisbusiness that runs it and rent a whole room with TV's and sound systemand you just stay the rest of the night there eating and drinking andsinging. It's like a karaoke bar here, but it's more than that," shesaid."Did you ever sing?" he asked."More than she did. I was ok but I would have liked to hear her sing moreoften. Most of the time she. He spied a small, sad container of what might have been grapes but were halfway to being raisins. "These, Miss Bancroft, are not grapes. They are pitiful." "I have canned peaches." She paused. "I think." "Stop, you're killing me." Brody closed the fridge and sat across from her at the table. "So, what happened?" He gestured at her leg. "I jumped off the Washington Monument." Brody stared at her. That couldn't be true, but she kept her eyes on his and there was no trace of a smile on her face..