I ought to explain some more about what you can and can't write about. Same time today, OK? It's Friday so I know there won't be any painters today.He...was a masochist. A weak, wimpy masochist. Why else would he have come home again today, at noon?The apartment that he and Shelly rented belonged to a friend, a somewhat kinky friend. Along with its wall and ceiling mirrors, the master bedroom had a small adjoining hidden cubicle that their friend used to spy on houseguests who would sometimes. Oh!”My wife gasped audibly as she entered the hallway and came face to face with our visitor. One hand flew to her naked breasts, the other to her groin in a useless attempt to protect her modesty – a bizarre action indeed, given she had been sunbathing topless in her microscopic bikini all week.“Excuse me!” she gulped and disappeared into the bedroom.When I turned back to Marcus, his eyes were fixed on her slender, departing figure.“My wife Alice,” I explained, introducing myself too. “We. She had died ten years before.It seemed that when I remembered my mother, that it triggered my memories and they began flooding back. I knew that my dad called me Rooster, because I was always in a fight trying to protect other kids who were being bullied or picked on. I knew that I called my dad "Boss Man" because that is what the cowboys called him. I remembered a million other little things, but I couldn't remember anything about who tried to kill me except the policeman's face.I wrote my. They knew each other instantly.They stood there staring at each other, neither knowing what to say. The spell was suddenly broken by Dr. Bruce walking into the reception area and asking if Elena was there yet. Flushed, she responded, and both women turned away, wishing they could speak, and yet neither speaking.When Elena returned to reception, the little person was perched on a tall stool, tapping away on her keyboard.“Thank you,” said Elena, too afraid to say anything else, and walking slowly.