Rest in peace, Bostonfictionwriter.’ * Premature Death: ‘Wow! Look at this! I can’t believe it. It made the front page of today’s newspaper.�... ‘What did?’ ‘He was on his honeymoon, can you believe it? The poor bastard.’ ‘Who?’ ‘Freddie, he was honeymooning in Bermuda and did a little too much celebrating. He took a wrong turn on one of those motor scooters and drove off a cliff. It was in the middle of the night and he was drunk.’ ‘What about his wife?’ ‘Wife? You mean his widow?’ ‘Yeah, what. Andonly she knew why he knew her so well. Half an hour later she wasbreathless and sore lipped from all that kissing; what she needed no wassome raw action. Only he could make her feel this way, like a slut and asaint all rolled into one and she took advantage of it now as she startedto strip his work clothes off him. How she loved his masculine scent at theend of a working day and all that dark fur on his beefy frame. There was asolidity about his body that made her feel safe. How she loved. More

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