A tall, muscular, black man approached Patrick. ‘Excuse me, Sir. I saw you looking at the map. Do you need directions?’ the man offered. ‘Thank.... I’m looking for the 9 train. I’m not from around here. Tuesday night I head back to Montreal.’ Patrick replied. The other man’s face lit up. ‘The subway station for the 9 is right there. Hey, let me show you around tonight. I’ve lived in Manhattan my whole life. It’s been 34 years now. I can take you to this great Jazz club I know.’ Patrick was. You can hear the floorboard squeak over by the dresser as I walk over to get the feather and the bottle, walking back I twirl the feather between two of my fingers watching you through it, try to watch me through the blind fold, the squeak having given you a clue to where I was as I step to the side of the bed. Letting my hand drop I slowly brush the feather along the inside edge of of your arm, and down your side. You flex grasping at the chains holding the cuffs to the bed pulling them tight.. More

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