I sat on the edge of the bed. Those hands on those knees. Hair hung down. "What the fuck." Therewere breasts. I looked around. There was a mirror...on a bureau. Thisbody stood up and slowly made its way toward the mirror. "What the fuck," I said again inside my head. There was no connection,no realization, only total disconnect. "Who is she?" "Why is shethere?" But that was me. I mean, not me. But it seemed like it was me. Imean, it seemed like this what I was. Who I was. But it. ’ and turning on his heel, he pulled Froo behind him, away from the confrontation. * Later that night, back home in his own apartment, Misha sat on the leather couch staring into space, a glass of whisky in his hand. After they had picked up Jace, and returned to her place, he had calmed down and played with the little boy until time to put him to bed. Then sitting cuddled up on her sofa, watching the television, some programme about the goings on in Norfolk with Stephen Fry as a jovial Lawyer,. More

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