“None of the buggers,” from the way he was talking I deduced that he was referring to his friends and family, as well as the police, “thought I�...�d shoot-through, like I did! They knew what was going behind my back alright; they had to, it’s a small town. But none of the drongos let-on to me about it, or knows where the hell I am now. It must be driving them gaga!”It could have been the drink, or it could have been a form of temporary paranoia. But anyway by the time I left that bar that evening. Walking back to Adam, my friends wave, motioning me to them. Ignoring them, I am a cat who is going to play and tease with my food, and will get what I want. He spots me as I am a few meters away, a smile lights up his face. Returning the smile I press my body up against his, wrap my arms around his head, pulling his face to mine, kissing him forcefully his tongue going wild over mine. He tastes me on him, I feel his groan, his cock throbs against me, my hips grin against him. His hands firm on. Then, he replaced his appropriate look of concern for his grandfather’s health to look at Anthony with a broad smile. ‘Have you ever been to the old country, Tony?’ ‘No, Mr. Russo, I’m not Sicilian. My family came here from northern Italy back in the thirties before the start of World War II.’ ‘Well, that explains the blonde hair and the baby blues that you have like Frankie Sinatra did. A dozen years before he died, me and the boys saw Frankie in concert, you know. He gave a Hell of a show, a. I think we would have done it for free—at least I would have—but being treated like our contribution is worth something really helps.”Bruce Sandusky came up to me Wednesday morning. From what I’d put together out of pieces of V2 memory and things my parents had said, Bruce must have been my best friend in grade school. Since V3 came to life, we haven’t spoken more than a half-dozen sentences to each other. But suddenly Wednesday morning, we were old buddies again when he caught up with me in.