He went out to the back garden, maybe she was there enjoying the nice weather on this late afternoon. He called out for her but there was no answer. "...hat's odd." he said. Then it popped into his head. "That blasted bike!"He walked quickly to the shed now. And rage filled his face when he saw the broken lock on the handle doors. He swung open wide the doors and saw the bike was missing."That fucking bike!" he exclaimed. "It'll be the death of me yet!"He slammed the shed doors shut and walked. He really did not enjoy Marc Bolan, Al Stewart or Rod Stewart. The Beatles was probably as modern as his taste in music ever progressed. And much as he enjoyed Elvis Presley and Buddy Holly, he preferred Frank Sinatra and Tony Bennet. Sentimental fool that he was, Sam once took a holiday to Casablanca in the long gap between wives number three and four. This was a disappointment in one sense. The crowded, sweaty North African city hardly resembled at all the Casablanca of his imagination,. More

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