“Joe, you were never a bad guy and I know you cared about us, so why are you doing this? Mom’s not asking for the moon…she just wants enough so ...e can live and finish college. Were we all that bad to you Joe?” Joe looked across the table at Marc and gave the sort of a smile that would have been accompanied by an affectionate tap on the head a few years back. “You’re okay k**…” Whether Marc’s saying something to Joe had anything to do with it wasn’t clear but when the conference was over Joe had. It was unlike him to be late, let alone not say anything. I called.....no answer. I txted.....no answer. Where the hell was he?! I began losing hope around 12:30. Still no answer. No word. 'Whatever' i thought, 'that's why i got toys and fingers.' Then...faintly, i heard a gagging noise coming from the living room. At first i was confused. Gagging? Was someone being sick in the living room? I got up and went to my door, peeking into the living room. It was actually the opposite of being. If I wrote about all the times we sucked, fucked, screwed and made love, I would have finally written a masterpiece, dripping with passion and the juices of our bodies. We did it in a park, in a car, in an apartment, every room of a friend’s house: the bathroom, the living room on the floor (where I got her pregnant), the bedroom, the baby’s room, hotels spread across three states. We had to get anywhere we could because her mother hated me. Rose was only 18 and I was 29. We broke up and it. The meeting went well. The clients seemed very interested and encouraged, and Louis was the polished source of information and professional presence that he always is; I took it as a good sign, and allowed myself to get my hopes up. It would mean a payday of over $49,000, our share of the commission on the property, and even though Louis would receive a part of it for his help and much of it would go toward the operating expenses and overhead of our company, it was still far better than a poke.