She pulls it on, loving the same warm soft feeling. I was right. The sleeves hang past her hands and the sweater dangles past her waist. She senses a ...aint smell of man on the sweater, mmm.She notices a mirror facing the bed and examines herself. He has some good tastes; I actually look good in all this. Now what to do with my hair? She picks it up and lets it drop. She can feel how damp and wet it still is from her five minutes out in the storm. It’ll dry quicker if I leave it down.She then. We could not be sure because there was no narration. The sound was on because we could hear screams and other noise that might have once been intended as background, but there was no reporter doing the usual reporter things.The camera was on an automatic sweep so that we saw quite a bit of what was going on on that street, but there were no breaks for commercials, so we knew that there was some sort of screw up at the station. At his point, Dad was sound asleep as he sat on the sofa, so I. More

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