‘Nothing.’ I shove the empty book cart down the aisle with my foot. The creaking wheels don’t carry it far. I follow it, walking away from her. ...��You’re still mad.’ It’s not a question, more of an accusation. Her tone is incredulous. I walk faster. ‘I’m not mad.’ She follows me as I wheel the cart back toward the supply room. There are more books to be reshelved, standing in piles on the oak table. There are even more stacks of books waiting for rebinding, or page repairs. ‘I said I was sorry.’. And to Heatherhe added. Then he opened the door to escort me out. I waved goodby tothose that were left, and thanked our hostesses profusely and followedCharles down the stairs as he held my hand to steady me. Sure enough, thecabbie was sitting out next to the side curb with his lights on,obviously waiting for me, he was probably wanting to give me a lift andexpecting a blow job as a tip. I just followed Charles across the street to his car, but made sure thatthe cabbie got a good view of my. More

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