A few weeks later, the figure reappeared at the bottom of her bed. ‘ what do you want from me?’Megan asked. There was no answer to her question. �...�Why are you here?’ Still no answer. ‘Please answer me.’ Instead of saying anything the figure slowly faded to black. At seven years old, Megan thought she had to be losing her little mind. The only one she could think of to turn to was her mom. Would she believe a word of what Megan was saying or would she just say it was Megan’s way of coping with. She fought, panic overtaking her as she pulled away, but gradually she grew calm, sensing perhaps that he meant her no harm. And truly, she was not wrong with that. Turning to face him, she met his fierce gaze with shy eyes, neither protesting nor resisting as he pulled her close and begin to slowly shred her feathered bodice with his razor sharp claws. Nor did she make a sound as he tore her tutu and tights from her. Finally, he freed her of her slippers and the ribbons that held back her. I pulled two five dollar bills from my pocket and handed one to each of them.There were two Mexican boys wiping the vehicle down like it was a show car.“Give them a tip, for a job well done and thank them.”Each of them walked up to one of the boys and presented the tip, smiling.“Gracias, Little Amigo’s,” both of them said, grinning at me. They slapped hands and ran back to get in.“Papa Murphy, that was good, wasn’t it, giving a tip for a good job?” Luís said.“Yes it was, you boys remember that. One such experience that my wife shared with me was when she went for a night on the town with some of her friends. The club she went to was jam packed with sailors in town for R&R and they were buying rounds of drinks for almost every girl in sight. Needless to say they kept buying endless rounds for my wife's group and started to chat them up. After a couple of drinks and high on the alcohol, my wife started to dance with one of the sailors, a black guy known as Greg. They were dirty dancing.