.. but... hey, another twenty minutes wont hurt, will it? After all, all of this will be rewarding by the time I sit down in that squeaky, uncomfortab...e piece of plastic shit that they call a chair, and start writing up an essay about Conflict. I can feel the buzz in my pocket before the ringtone starts to play out, and quickly I answer it, just signalling to Mr.Fitzpatrick with a finger that I'll be no more than one minute - not like he needs it anyways, it's verging on half six now, and he's. Within minutes, I went outside as Melissa's Dad pulled up in his red Jeep Cherokee with the girls. They got out and I shook hands with Alex. He was a trim athletic man in his late thirties, of Italian descent, with a great olive complexion. He had that ruggedly dark, craggy demeanor of a mafia hitman and I'd often noticed the women in the gym where we worked out, looking his way. The girls were simply unbelievable and my inner voice suddenly echoed a hollow 'uh-oh', as I felt myself instantly. More

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