And she would run, kicking at the drifts of fallen leaves, laughing and gasping as they crackled and crunched beneath her feet, barely noticing the mi...ting rain, creating a halo as it settled on her hair.A line from a song drifted into my head: "You always loved this time of year".Well, not quite.Actually, a lot of the time, she hated it. It meant the end of sunny days and warm endless evenings with the heady perfume of late summer flowers.But she did love the leaves.It was the colours, I. “Thanks.”“Where did you go,” I asked, my curiosity peaked.Rick let out a long sigh; “It was a cathouse – late 1800s, I’d guess, with petticoats and eagle clawed tubs, and nickelodeon music and the strongest booze ever conceived by man. The women were . . . hot – no, insatiable!” He paused and put on his serious face. “What if I knocked her up?”“And what if I fucked my granny and she had a boy instead of my Mom? Let me go check on the flux capacitor . . .” I took another lingering sip of my. More

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