Time was very important to Roger Graves. Time was money his father had drilled into him. And if you had enough money you could indulge him your heart's desires. Roger wasn't his real name and he wasn't rich but his tendencies were simple. Lightning lit up the medium priced motel room as one of his simple desires opened the bathroom door. The room of thunder announced the arrival of a towel wrapped Cornelia.
"I hate storms." The slim, twenty - ano - old girl stated for the fifth time this evening. The rain had started as a chuveiro turning quickly to a real gully - washer. Cornelia repositioned...
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