I’ll give you a massage. I promise you’ll like it.”“Hmmmmmm, you are a temptress aren’t you? Yes, that sounds wonderful. What about the boys...”“Sure but later.”“No, I meant are they out? Although that does sound good, too.”“Yes, they are out but they’ll behave. Just say ‘no’. I know that is new for you, but try it.”“Smart-ass! You’re the one who got me started on all this … remember? Okay, you tease, I’ll be right over. I am going to drive. Easier for the way I am feeling. That massage is. But the individuals... many have real-life counterparts in my universe. Wanderer has a real-life counterpart somewhere in the South... so does Jack, Brian, and almost everyone in this bar. In a sense, all of you are representatives of us... we all meet using the Internet on a mailing list via computer. We e-mail back and forth on a mailing list, posting stories. Can you guess what some of those stories involve, Tara?" He grinned.I had a sinking feeling I did. To claim all of reality was merely. Her phone was charged during the trip so she was able to contact me if needed. I went to the food court after some brief shoe shopping to waste some time. I watched the clock and the hour came to a close. After a few more minutes I got worried and tried calling my mom. No answer. The panic set in and I had a bad feeling in my stomach. She’s supposed to be in my “custody” and I fucked that up within a couple hours after her release. Why would she do this to me? I got up and started marching. Hell, I hadn’t been around her. Suddenly I came upon one of my favorite places, The Keyboard Gallery, over off of Harding Place. I’ve known the owner, Mike Shears, who himself was now a concert pianist, a number of years. We met right after I moved back to Nashville once I’d graduated college. He was also the guy I bought my piano from, and not only are he and his wife, Terrie, good people, but we’ve become close friends over the years. So, I pulled my truck into the parking lot then got out.
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