Alan was not Philip, he was… he was a character in a Christmas movie, a loving old guy with a beard. He was a kind of Santa. An old man with rosy ch...eks, with fun and smiles for everyone. He was an old man she wanted to get on her knees and blow, one that she wanted to feel come in her mouth. And now he was panting in her ear, licking her jugular, gripping her ribs with large hands making her feel tiny. ‘What a stupid bitch Jenny was for not seeing how amazing this is,’ she thought as the. He saw his father cutting the pigs’ throat and the rivers of blood that poured out. He detested the pigs high pitched squealing, the blood and guts, just about everything associated with the pigs’ demise. He kept those feelings to himself and on the rare occasion when it was impossible not to, his father would belittle him and tell him he wasn’t a man if he showed any sign of weakness or emotion. His father was a hard man. He was an immigrant and rarely spoke about his childhood or how he came. More

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