Sitting at the computer, he checked his messages on Facebook. As usual his friends were goofing off. His buddy Mohammed, a native of Mogadishu in Soma...ia, was going on and on about the dance routine of a certain sexy Australian runner at the London Olympics. Michelle something or other. Raphael smiled. Mohammed was one horny bastard, and he never met a white chick he didn’t like. After getting dumped by a Somali gal named Fatuma, who chose an Arab guy over him, Mohammed was basically boycotting. ‘What are you doing here, Ry?’ Royce croaked, his throat dry and scratchy. ‘What do you mean, what am I doing here? This is my cabin and that’s my bed you’re stinking up, stupid! Jeezus effing Christ! What the hell happened here??’ Ryan snapped, looking at the mess on the floor and the big one on his bed. ‘Can you tone it down? Something’s hammering inside my head,’ Royce groaned as he pressed the heels of both hands against his temples, closing his eyes. ‘Jeezus, Royce!’ ‘Ryan! Shut the. More

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