“I’m sorry, cap’n me hearing ain’t what it should be.”“No, no, Barrow,” Weaver replied easily. “Just thinking out loud. Bad habit of m...ne. How are you doing?”In the rising light, Weaver could see the blond, sun-burned helmsman’s grin. “Oh, Barrow is always OK, cap’n. Got away from the Queen’s fooking navy and landed me a place in Uncle Sam’s fleet, I’m pleased as can be. Good food, good mates, and Ð if I can say this, cap’n Ð a commander who likes to think, out loud or otherwise.”Weaver. Brien Fineman, age nineteen, had been the crew chief and the last survivor pulled from the crash. It had been in the effort to save him that Warren Davis had suffered the majority of his injuries. The picture, included in a post Pulitzer article about the first novel did not include their savior, only a caption surmising that this incident had more or less spurred Warren Davis to become a writer. None of those shown in the picture had been willing to be interviewed. Brien Fineman…Sid’s grandson. She was the sister of one of the woman whose family came camping during the summer with us on a regular basis. My mom and JoAnn became very good friends. I remember being on the camping trip and being blown away by her beauty and hot body! She had red hair down to her great ass, huge tits, and she loved showing her body off, especially at the campground pool. Wearing a skimpy bikini, that accentuated her cleavage, she drove all the men crazy. I even caught my dad looking at her tits. I just. “Oh fuck me, you bastard, my cunt is on fire”They’d say while her husbands trend not to expire.And as they indulged in this sexual playA fat jolly man was about in his sleigh.Thrice HO! He cried as he rode through the airAnd stopped at a house in an elegant Square.“Now Prancer and Dancer and Donner and Blitzen,It’s your job to stop Rudolf fucking poor Vixen.”And having admonished his oversexed deersHe climbs to the chimney and soon disappears.And down in the bedroom, silently sleepingA pretty.