Her hair and perky little tits bounced in time with her sobs. The dress was bunched up above her waist. Her pussy lips gaped. It and her thighs were s...erm-spattered. As she heard my feet grating on the alley’s grit, she jerked her hands away from her face and tried to cover herself.“No more,” she slurred drunkenly. “Go away and leave me alone, asshole.” Her lipstick was a dark shadow around her bruised mouth. Her mascara had turned her sweat and tears black. She struggled to pull her top over. In addition, my mother, like every other year, had spent the summer canning hundreds of Mason jars filled with beans, tomatoes, peaches, and other items.Anyway, on a bitter cold windy Saturday morning, with the wind howling outside, my Uncle Hank knocked on our door. His daughter Frances' little girl had died.He had come to ask Dad to help him dig the grave."Why don't you come along, Son," my Dad said to me, "Once your Uncle Hank and I break through the frozen ground, you can help us with the. More

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