She was like an innocent flower. One day, as they were walking, he spilled it all out. ‘WafflePirate, I want to tell you something…’ ‘What is...it, my sweet little Panny-poo?’ ‘I…I…’ He tried to speak but the words wouldn’t come. He got a piece of paper from his pack and scribbled down a note: I LOVE YOU. He blushed and ran away. She screamed for him to wait and met him at his door. ‘Panny-poo, I love you too! Everybody treats me like a little girl. But you…you listen. You understand me. You. Over the first few "stupid" years, I tossed half of them. But as time when on I realized that they were still fucking great to watch from time to time. So I saved the rest. Over time my abilty to get the pussy came to a screeching halt, and all I had were my personal tapes. I hid them from a few girlfriends and my now ex-wife, and little by little over the last 10 years started to convert what is left to digital. Sadly most of them have failed. The tapes got moldy in the basement and then. When they arrived at the nearly finished building the day after their train had pulled into the Denver station, Ada found that the interiors had already been ‘done’ and by her. The collector who had been buying up Ada’s paintings was William Hagen, and the museum was the Ada Raven Museum of Art. Ada walked through the tastefully understated and well-lit exhibit rooms with her mouth hanging open and her eyes overflowing with tears as, from one room to the next, she moved through her early. "I don't suppose either of you girls would be interested in making a few bucks helping out a horny driver who needs his ashes hauled?"I looked at Running Eagle and she smiled back at me letting me know she wouldn't mind if he wasn't too nasty about it. The driver who proudly announced that his name was Jake pulled over to the side near a babbling brook and followed Running Eagle up to the bunk in the rear and for the next quarter hour I could hear him grunting like he was having a blast.