I poured us a glass each and carried them through to her, setting hers on a small table beside her and stood by the fire to watch her. We raised glass...s and smiled at each other, the tension in me all but gone. She told me to sit at her feet. She read me poetry, from a small leather bound book, poetry she had written, some I had read before but all new with her voice, and her hand stroking my hair as I listened and she read. I rested my head on her knee. Her poems are dark, opening my mind to. The next story was about a woman that was gangbanged by several men on the pool table of a bar. There were two other stories in the bag. Fran scanned the first, a story about lesbian love, and the second about a women abducted and raped by a gang of men and women. Sitting on a bar stool at the kitchen counter, Fran read the last story. It began with the description of a housewife (who was remarkably similar to her) that had become lost while driving in an unfamiliar part of an inner city.. More

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