As I waschecking in he grinned and asked if I was one of them boys headed toToonwhich.I told him I had no plans to head there and he grinned his tooth...esssmile. "Good, young man, you don't want to go there." I just asked himwhy and he began to laugh and it sounded like a cackle. He never saidanother word. The room was a dump with just an old black and white TVthat received just one fuzzy channel. I showered and shaved and headedout to the bar. I just needed a drink or for that matter. The wounded cry: "Thank you, sir."Flogged her again, her thanks lost as the third, fourth, fifth blows descended in rapid succession. "Five more and we'll be done."Five more, delivered as if controlled by a metronome. One... pause... two... pause... three... pause... four... pause... and the last, hardest, most biting... five. Each stroke bringing murmured, ungrateful, pleading thanks. Each stroke provoking anguished, pained writhing. Each stroke brining her close to being told to "Stand. More

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