The eighteen year old was nowhere to be seen. He thought back to his mother, and what she might have said gazing on him now. Probably cry with arms ou...stretched, he thought. He took one last look. Let the boy die with those memories, his mind said. Only men survive. Despite the near constant soundtrack of the whorehouse, he sleep solidly awaking refreshed. It was still dark. He stretched and forced himself up from the cot. Being a man didn’t mean rising was any easier. The urge to roll over and. I'm alone, do sit down."The man did as invited and proceeded to take some papers out of his attaché case. Soon he was immersed in them and seemingly oblivious to the cleavage opposite him at eye level and the length of bare leg and bare feet stretched out below him. Veronica returned to her contemplation of the immediate future. She saw that her glass was nearly empty and downed the last of the brandy with some regret that there was no more left. That drink had been just what her shattered. More

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