And she was restless, squirming around in her seat.I parked behind a gas station, reached over and opened my glove box. Took out a baggie with four bl...nts. Winked at Balukas whose face lit up. We hustled over to a battered plastic picnic table, faded red, and I brushed some twigs and trash off the bench. We bundled our coats tighter.I lit hers, then mine. Mine was more tobacco than grass; hers wasn’t.Just like the self-help articles recommended, I waited for her to speak.She held that second. Once the pizza was ordered, both girls kissed me and their mother on the cheek and scampered out the door.Forty minutes later, I was listlessly picking at my pizza as the three Morrison women did their best to divert me from my troubles. Dallas and Dakota were especially talkative as they quizzed me on the engineering curriculum at state. Both girls were math whizzes, and were leaning towards a degree in electrical engineering or computer science. I thought they’d be better off with the. "Strip slut."Sharon looked at the three men, then at the gun, she realised her options where limited. She removed her university polo shirt, her pride and joy, then slowly unbuttoned her jeans sliding them down her slightly round, but long legs. She had always been self-concious when it came to her weight, despite people saying she was curvy rather than big."All of your fucking clothes," the man with the gun said, firing a shot into the air. Sharon reached around, shaking, tears streaming. It's in Oxford and most people go to visit the colleges but the Ashmolean is like a jewel box. It's extraordinary really — one building with the whole of mankind's history on display. Plus it was founded by a man who basically stole the original collection from the man who set up the first ever public museum in Britain. The handy thing is that they are always ready to open it up after hours for corporate hospitality events. They were really cooperative when I asked if I could hire the Egyptian.