“Hi,” she giggled. “I’m Sally, who are you?”“Dave,” I answered, “But my friends call me Randy.”“And are you?”“Permanently,” ... laughed. “And your bum isn’t helping.”“You want me to move?”“Not likely, it seems like a nice little bum.”“Okay, I’ll stay then.”The music was loud, the atmosphere pleasant, kids were dancing or at least moving together roughly in sync with the hits of the time.Sally was moving on my lap, just sort of grinding herself on my rather obvious erection and making it known. I didn’t dare complete the ride.“I called 9/11 and stuck with you in that parking lot, waiting for the ambulance. They’ve patched up the stitches, but you were in so much pain that you were heavily medicated and let slip what happened to you. God wanted justice after all, I guess. I confirmed it, based on what I knew and surmised. I wasn’t in the same merciful mood as you, babe.“Why should I be? They cut up my man like so much corned beef. Also, you originally wanted me to take you to the. More

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