Breakfast is my meal, lunch is hers, supper we shared. Nothing in the kitchen is sacrosanct; therefore hiding places were few. I rotated the flour jar...rather than sifting through, and repeated with the sugar jar. No surprises were hidden there, either, though I could hope. The paper towel dispenser had been refilled with a new roll, so the Cadbury's were gone, too."Time?" I asked."Running out, slave," she replied. After a few seconds, she started counting down from sixty.I went through a mental. And learn to speak betta too, so I don' soun' like trash."I was polite - never once calling him a "motherfucking pig" - and sincere, so he eventually stopped showing so much suspicion. He called LA while I was there, not getting through to the person so he left a voicemail message identifying himself, me, and reading out the information on the note I'd given him.I got the LA cop's card back, "In case I need it agin'." I also promised to come back when I had my afternoons organized or if my. More

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