Heaving? Just a bit, and tonight it seemed more ample than when she met him. Paul, Paul. He should have been president. But here in this lush setting the lean black god of the world reminded her of Paul; the world shimmered for four years under his electric touch….and if there was anything benevolent in the cold steel void of the universe, he would have four more.
Then she lost her concentration when she felt a hand on her bottom…spilled from a hot coil of alcohol breath came the familiar words: “Hey Mo, ‘member the Times Christmas Party we had in that motherf***ing elevator? Gotta butt rash from the rug”" Words, sweet words from the biggest lug in the mail room, but she could never resist a shy guy like him. Slim and hard like a fencing foil, he reminded her of Paul Newman