It is nighttime, but there are no crickets. I try to pierce the darkness, and can only see a black form above me. A warm tear drop falls onto my face ...nd I realize this isn’t another torture session. The voice is familiar as it urges for me to waken. Images of photos suddenly appear, flashes of sitting alone in the family car back in America, talking with such a voice over the phone. I know who this is. I reach up to hold him but he is already holding me, pulling me up from the dirty, bloody. "Yeah, that's me." "Wow you're so handsome. They said you were cute, but not this cute!" she said with a light laugh. I laughed it off feeling kind of shy, but hey she was right. "My name is Monique. I'm Priscilla's hair stylist. Come right up this way. I know you're dying to meet her." And I sure was. * We then came to room 215. Me standing there with my hands shoved in my pockets ready to meet the big booty goddess. Monique then gave the door a few knocks. "It's me, Priscilla," Monique called. More

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