I would not like the hangovers >.A car was driving up to the house.“Who can that be at this hour, Amaqjuaq?”“How would I know. For sure it is no... for me.”I could see Vicky getting out of a car.“It is Vicky Goodrich, she is in my class.”“I remember you mind-walked to her this afternoon. I bet you commanded her to do something. Something inconclusive maybe.”“Yes Amaqjuaq, exactly that. I never gave her the slightest notion I was with her.”“Yes, but on a subconscious level, she probably recognized. Fridays, however, were much more to my taste and was very much ‘the men’s’ drinking evening.Other than a guy called Cedric, who was as camp as a row of pink Ferraris, I appeared to be the only other gay person frequenting the bar. Cedric was the local hairdresser and lived on a smallholding five miles out of the village. He took care of all the local ladies coiffure requirements and thankfully only visited the pub once a month. I always avoided him like the plague.All the local guys looked like. More

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