It seems ironic to me that the one moment when all wanted to cherish and remember the cause of letters loved, and stories told, when it was absolutely...obligatory to paint our grief in the words she gave us, those words ran dry. I wept. No, I keened because the words I needed were gone. When I needed them the most, the fled and I babbled mercilessly with the throngs. Tears were on the undistinguishable faces, pouring out the words that should have been, the words that could not be. And we could. My eyes were riveted as her man’s hand was clearly now between her legs. I could see the movement of his fingers inside the denim jeans. She lewdly maneuvered her ass, sticking it out just a bit more and spread her legs a bit wider. His fingers were clearly moving in and out of her. She was lost in her pleasure and he never wavered, never looked anywhere but forward. Her knees shook slightly as his hand pressed deep into her. He held it there waiting for the waves of passion to cascade. More

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