What time…, wait it’s fucking Saturday. Saturday! I’m so messed up, what when wrong?” The fleshly and over-sexed 23 year old whispered in her ...ead. A faint and feeble flavor of crotch and cum stuck in her throat like the seasoning of a Christmas goose. The taste vivid on her dry lips, the memory muted by the rounds of rum. Tricia Saratopia, an attractive and confident deli clerk from Hampton, New Hampshire stirred about, shifting uneasily in her bed slowly, almost slow motion, touching her. That got me to thinking. I called Dad on my cell phone. That was all I had; I never had a line phone here. "Dad, we're at the apartment and having lunch. We picked up one survivor, Shirley Ames, a student here who was in the class I taught last year."Yes sir, I know. It's very quiet here, very quiet. I thought of something that you might want to consider. The bread here is getting stale. Why don't you and the rest of the guys take your trucks, liberate a bunch of freezers, and fill them with. More

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