She knew the woman often stayed late to work out new routines. She hoped this time was no exception. When Ardena answered the phone she sounded a bit...tired, but generally in her usually good spirits. L. D. launched right into the reason for her call. “Ardena, it’s L. D.” she began. “L. D.?” replied Ardena, surprise evident in her voice. “To what do I owe this honor?” This was the first time the woman had called her. She sensed it must have to do with one of her dancers. Ardena knew L. D. was a. Even then, though, my killing thoughts lingered. I swore when I went off to college I would come back and kill him in the evening hours, my trusty green car battering the life out of him as I spun my tires away back to Maryland, awaiting a call that my friend had been killed, by a stranger no less. But I didn't. I stayed my killing hand. I turned my thoughts to homosexual images of buff, bulging men muscles, glittering in tan, surreal Apollo rooms, while I shut myself in my college dormroom.. More

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