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S. Perhaps Bodge and Fuckit, those well-known lawyers, may help with a restraining order? Dear Ms CommaWell aren't you an uppity little piece of shit....What is your purpose again? All you are is a brief pause for breath. Common as muck. Infiltrating your way into sentence after sentence yet adding nothing. The uninteresting half of a semi-colon. An apostrophe that's lost its va-va-voom and fallen flatter than the souffle I attempted on 'The Bake Off' pre-heats. Quite why her gothic nerd-ness. She looked over at him and her response was short and to the point, “Fuck me!” Paul looked at her as he got undressed. Obviously she was aroused but he didn’t expect this when he got home. Jess had thought about the events of the night before, in doing so it ignited a deep primal passion. Being on the hunt brings all of the wolf’s senses to life. Jess had tried to suppress that the night before, but thinking about it now in the safety of her home, she was willing to explore it all.Paul walked. Two hours, he had two hours of torment ahead of him. John went to his emails. Mary wanted him to brood over them; she said that. He read each of them, the few words she wrote. He looked longer at each picture. Eyes closed, John remembered each conversation. He remembered how Mary kept cutting him short; she never did answer his questions. John realized he had no clue about who the black guy fucking his wife was. What is going on, he kept asking himself. John went back to the pictures. He. "What the hell! Your clothes!" I got caught by the storm. You can get trapped on that damn beach!" She omitted mention of Soldier.Ward gave her a curious look. "Fact is, you get a real tide and that beach is a Goddamn death cell! How the hell did you get away?" Death cell?" She felt that was over-dramatic.He shrugged. "A good high tide covers the whole damn thing. Surf pounds right up against the bluff. And nobody could survive that." He still studied her with a perplexed expression creasing.
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