Dressed in a black leather jacket, black pencil skirt, boots and in the weak light he caught a glimpse of pale cleavage. Cleavage is like the sun- you...can't look straight at it- you have to glance and look away. He did. Too late-- she'd seen his eyes. She smiled. "I don't know about you," she said, a coy smile on her painted lips, she threw the cigarette to the ground. "But I could use that drink after that interrogation. There's a bar on twenty-eight and seven. Not too far from my place. What. And, quick as I got back into bed again after, I heard the noise through the wall. The springs were squeaking in there, real bad, and Emily was starting in again -- just like she had, on that first night, or, really, the second night, that she'd been here, before. I couldn't tell what she was saying, exactly. I don't think she was really saying anything you were supposed to be able to make out. It was just kind of a chant, y'know? Partly like a groaning noise, but with what kinda sounded like. More

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