Come on, let’s get those drawings for you.”The group walked beyond where the ‘Employees Only’ sign was. Agnes put a key into a lock and turned...the handle. There on the floor was a young man lying in a pool of dried blood. Agnes screamed, then covered up her nose from the smell, “I think that’s Chet our intern. Oh God, Marlene may be here too. The two of them did not sign out on Sunday and left the lights on.”“Chet’s been dead for four days. I get a no about bringing him back.” John looked. Then I made sure absolutely nothing incriminating was left in the darkroom (or its wastebasket). My nightly whack sessions all involved those arousing images and I waited impatiently for Janice to return.But she never did, and I was left with no address, no phone number, and no way to get them. I mourned Janice as if she'd died, and as the weeks and months dragged by, I polished my memories of those afternoons. Funny: despite the help of my well-thumbed photos, my most vivid recollections were. More

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