I’m famished for some reason. Dinner goes rather quickly as we engage in small talk. Truthfully, it’s a bit awkward as I seem to be doing most of ...he talking. He seems interested, but he’s rather quiet, and I wonder if it’s something I did or said or if now that we’ve already had sex he’s counting the minutes until dinner is over, and he can return to the party. But then why create this elaborate setup? We could have just had sex and returned to the throng never to see each other again. I run. And he had. Found answers, that is. Not many and not nearly enough to satisfy himself, never mind his bosses. There were days he wanted to claim to be burnt out, too. Days like this. Days where another body drops and you know there are answers to be had but it seems they are in a language not your own. And they are there only for a limited time before they disappear. Or rather, they are disappeared. The FBI was unreasonably territorial about the Tower and nobody could figure out why. Noidalla. More

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