"Let's eat and enjoy this wine."They chattered happily over dinner. Afterwards they helped each other wash up and then sat back down on the sofa again...with their wine."Ooh, I know," said Mark. "I've got an LP of Peter Katin playing Chopin nocturnes. Good idea?" Yes please. Golly, that's a very smart gramophone." I'm thrilled with it. My parents gave it to me last Christmas. Mum said it was the best mass-produced one there is. Certainly it's hi-fi enough for me."The record began to play. "That's. ‘Call me tomorrow evening,’ she said. I took her hand, and on impulse I kissed it, then I took the card. She giggled, turned to leave, and then said, ‘You’re a sweetie,’ over her shoulder. She walked quickly up the walkway and into the building. I went home feeling like things were going well. I called her the next evening, and we chatted for over two hours. The time evaporated, such was the quality of the conversation. I learned a lot about her, and she about me, in that getting-to-know-you. “Fuckfuckfuck – hurts. Hurt. Fuck.” He started sobbing now, hitting his hand on the floor, using the other to hold his forehead, which was developing a pretty big bump.“Come here, son,” I said, squatting down, trying to pull him up. “Fucking loser,” he sobbed, letting loose. A full-on crying jag had started and it appeared that, once unleashed, his pain was second only to his rage. The tears were overwhelming. “Such a fucking loser,” he sobbed, clawing at me but then pushing me away, not. Alan's stepfather, Marty, launched a plate at a wall mid tirade aboutthe Niggers, Spics, Kikes or whatever. This was Marty's usualconversation and if he wasn't griping about them then he was beating thecrap out of them. The tirades were a bore, but Alan did enjoy joiningMarty on his "crusades".Marty Loving was a 45 year old, Caucasian man, with grizzled featuresand a permanent snarl. He was six-feet-three with a lean, muscular bodyand a dark buzz cut. He had a fat, nine inch penis and large.