( the Sicilian barber) the chemist guy, ( he was Indian) the dry cleaners guy ( he was Portuguese )Said, the kebab shop owner, the other 4 were from C...yprus, as I walk in the garden, they all stop talking looking at me very excited, I say, what a nice surprise! looking at them I ask, if I can have some thing to drink, Carlo gives me his drink telling me,, you look BELLISIMA! kissing me on my cheeks a bit to flirtatious, Said start saying, lets have some drinks before we start the barbeque, after. That they were keeping me from going nuts was a great truth for sure. I needed those letters for two reasons, actually. One, they kept me from going nuts no question about it. Two, it was a matter of pride, prestige, status believe it or not. There was a deal of envy of inmates that had love letters from their women, kids, families. Long termers, like me, often got letters early on, as I discovered. But after a while the letters became fewer and fewer as the people in their previous lives moved. I was sitting on the living room couch reading it when Cookie came in and said, "What is it Dave? Do you see me doing those things? Do you have some sick fantasy about seeing me or having me do the things described in that magazine? Is that it Dave? You want to watch me with another man? What is it Dave, you want to see me with a black man, maybe do a gangbang? Or is it another woman you want to see me with? You are one sick puppy Dave" and she stormed out of the room leaving me sitting there. Karen drove to a small town near St Catharines, a place called Thorold, a friend of hers had a house near there. We stopped at a local store to get some wine and beer; the house was a nice-looking place, a wraparound veranda at the front. The inside was clean and tidy, the furniture looked a little worn, but not out of place. Karen put the wine and beer in the fridge, then she headed upstairs giving me that look. I followed a few minutes later. I could hear the shower as I entered the bedroom,.