After my third week of running, and two weeks after my interlude with Red, and at least one week before the promised Nirvana, I was working up a lathe... on the trail, trying to weaken the hormone surge through effort and exhaustion. It didn't help my condition that each time I finished a run I had to run past her house. Every time I looked it over to see if she had anything to offer. A few times I saw her, on her way to work. In a short, tight pencil skirt, and buttoned up white blouse that must. It’s working. Grinning like a madwoman, I quickened the strokes, and almost immediately, stabbed one of the stiff, broken steel threads deep into the tip of my finger.“Ah! Damn it,” I gasped.The file fell to the floor. I reached down for it, crouching as modestly as I could, but the hem of Madame’s dress was too short. I couldn’t grab it without pulling a full ‘Venus Callipyge,’ and giving the room a glimpse of something more intimate than my oils.“Esti d’crisse de tabarnak...”I dropped down to. More

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