I can feel the tears start to form. Here I am. A man of 53 years. Brought to tears by a simple song.There were many tears in our lives that year.Sure,...I can write about the neighborhood. The boys and girls running around and playing until dark was coming. Carefree and no worries about strangers lurking in the shadows. They were there. They just hadn't visited our lives yet.No, I will write about the night my mom was done. She packed all of us kids up. Put us into the car. We were leaving. The. His heart was racing, his body covered in sweat and no matter how much he tried, he couldn’t get his breath. His hands were clenched, ready to fight, ready to strike out at – who? Who was attacking him? His mind was already calculating his lines of sight, the routes of escape – door in front and to the right was better but he could make a stand at either of the far doors on the right wall, one corner was better than the other – a bathroom with water and possible tools to fight with while the. I arbitrarily selected a Wednesday night to strike. Each one would have to be dealt with individually, so I got started as soon as it got dark. I had found an unused barn that I could store my victims in until I was ready for them to show up in public.The first part of the night, I collected them and stowed them in the barn. Once I had all of them collected, I proceeded to work on them as fast as I could because it was getting close to dawn. Each man was bound hand and foot with nylon cable. .ok...ok. Bye now!" She's in her late twenties, luxuriously blonde hair, either expensively done or natural. Perky breasts in an expensive bra, just a touch of lace showing under a clean-cut blouse. Impossibly beautiful, but shy. I smile and hold out my hand like a fairy tale prince, and laugh easily, "Sorry to interrupt, I'd be happy to dance with you tonight." She smiles back, "Hi, I'm Ashley." I play a little, "Pleased to meet you, Ashley. I'm a gentleman adventurer, call me Chas." As we.