The locked desk drawer is highly improbable – he likes games more than he likes challenges, and he knows that I can bypass the biometrics in a heart...eat. I try my best to slip into his skin, to look at the world through his lenses. It’s never easy, trying to get into the head of the man you love. Moments like this are when I wonder if I really know him well enough to call him my own. Whether I know him well enough to predict his next move at checkers. Maybe I do, maybe I don’t. I’m looking. Nestling between my heavily perfumed and bountiful breasts, nestle five heavy gold chain necklaces. Each wrist is further encumbered by a loudly jangling assortment of equally cheap looking bracelets, and as many as thirteen rings adorn my fingers and thumbs. My nails, painted the same hideously bright and vivid pink as my toes, curl an appalling full inch and a half beyond my fingertips. My head is worse. Firstly, it is now covered on top by a horrid mass of long platinum blond curls piled. More

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