She’d secreted her lounge chair and milk-crate table in the corner, next to the hulking HVAC unit. Her half-smoked joint issued a wispy line of smok... from the ashtray on the crate, hypnotizing her as she played with her pussy lips, keeping the fires banked. Manhattan burned on the streets below.Similar blazes dotted the Brooklyn side of the river.Screams, car crashes, gunshots brayed for her attention. Her nipples hardened in the night breeze. She felt the first galvanic spark of release. . ." a groggy voice answered. "Hi, Daddy," she said brightly, "it's your sun-baked daughter. I think I'm about medium rare." "Davie! Where are you, sweetheart?" he asked, sitting up. He wassuddenly springing to alertness. "Sheboygan, Wisconsin. Really, Daddy," she teased, "where do you think I am? I'm at the reception desk." He had difficulty marshaling his reason. All he could think of wasDavie being eaten by that vixen, Trish. "Well, eh, what are you doingthere, darling? I thought you were .. More

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