)Everybody started laughing spontaneously.Except me. I had fucked up again. This 'returning' is dangerous. Suddenly, my stomach tied itself in knots ..... I felt ... loose ... my asshole clenched. I slipped the guitar in its plush case and stood ... one might say I waddled down the hall and to the bathroom ... Waddled is too slow but my guts wouldn't have withstood a run ... or even a 'trot.'To myself ... but aloud ... I mumbled, "Don't fart ... don't fart."The light was out ... the door was. Miss Emma Carling. I glance over to Petra’s bed. No letter there. Nothing for the pro hooker. My trepidation builds – are they kicking me out? Did I do something wrong last night? I sit down in my big, soft towel and tear the paper open. My fingers clutch at something thick and smooth: it’s some kind of photographic paper. Two pieces. I pull them out of the envelope. And I gasp. It’s me. Yesterday. Bent over in Miss Jackson’s office, baring my everything. So that’s what she was doing behind. More

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