Not that I care. Sate your unsophisticated, immature, unrefined lust elsewhere. I care not. Picking back up my quill, I jab it into the ragged wound o... my arm and begin to write. Valentines day? Oh, what a waste of time and breath. Bringing dead flowers to one still living in hopes of making her cunt randy enough she might give up her modest airs and admit to herself her own lustful wish to be fucked. How avant garde. You need only bring a huge bottle of Burgundy wine, or maybe that hellish. “Welcome,” I said, pretending I had not heard their comments.“Why am I here?” the man on the left said. He was middle aged with extra weight hanging around his waist. The man had a scraggly growth of facial hair that looked like it had not been shaved in five days.“Well, I ordered every member of the crew of Corsica to attend a training session. I’m assuming Mister...” I said with a long pause“Morgan,” the man said. “Anders Morgan. I’m supposed to be one of your missile techs.”“Come on in,” I. More

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