Fear slapped me across the face as I finally noticed that he had blood covered on his hands as if it was painted there. Like a piece of dead art that ...asn’t found until the century first begun. “Yamani, is there a problem did something happen”. I questioned him in frustration. I was deeply dying to know why he in my home covered in a water fountain of blood that began to stain my oak floors. He walked pass me making his way to the bathroom, he turned the hot water on burning his hands. I was. "Are they hookers or easy, slutty women or what?"I explained I had never actually seen a woman in the place. "It's a very masculine atmosphere. Basically it's guys going in there to get a piece of their own hand," I said trying to make a joke out of it all."Well, next time you go can I go with you?" Skip looked at me earnestly.What the fuck?!? "Sure. I guess so," I shrugged. How could I tell him these places were not really very conducive to group activity (I wouldn't learn the truth about that. More

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