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Coming around the corner of the building, you literally run into one of the new guards taking an after shift smoke before going home.You both tumble to the ground in a heap, levering yourself onto his chest you place one hand over his mouth, and the other around his throat. Having already vowed to not go back into a cage, you ride his bucking chest, watching the light leave his eyes, as you choke the life out of him. With one last surge you feel the guard slump to the ground, breathing hard you search him, taking his wallet, keys, and finding a small gun in an ankle holster. Taking your loot you drag the body back into the laundry and put him in a cart covering it up with soiled linens.Heading back out of the laundry you follow the walkway and with a sigh you see no one else is around at the moment. Walking on you come to the visitor’s parking lot and finding a little light you take a look at the guards wallet. Opening it up you find a couple hundred dollars in cash also you find his. . but I don’t have much time for this fiddle-faddle?”Her smile broke through his abruptness, we came in and she got the information that I was entering into my laptop as quickly as he was saying it.Grandpa Aaron was born in Charlotte, North Carolina. He married the former Sarah Dorothy (Dottie) Butler, who was four years older, and then he was and they had eight children, all boys, with William being the oldest.When he was through, he said, “I’m tired now, you can leave ... goodbye,” he said using his cane to get back up and open the door for us. He wouldn’t discuss his wife or children, but we got a fair amount of information.“Now, aren’t you glad you brought me along?” Di said full of herself.“Not everyone will want to talk like he did. That’s why we have the process. Two more people before we head to El Dorado.”From there, we traveled to my mom’s mother, Georgia Martha Thomas-Jefferson, who had outlived her husband and children. She was about 88 years old, and I hoped still stout.
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"I hope that doesn't include me, old man." Quite the reverse," Norman beamed, opening the gate. "Come on up to the Hall."Freddie drove through. He bounced gingerly over the cattle grid and swung the car across the empty visitors' car park, ignored the signs saying "No Cars Beyond This Point" and continued round to the side of the Hall. Norman followed him on foot. Freddie parked alongside a bright red Ferrari and got out just as Norman stepped across the grass to meet him. "Nice car," said Freddie, "wouldn't have thought it was your style."He had hardly said it when the door to the Hall opened. Freddie watched, impressed, as a long-limbed girl loped down the steps with antelope-like grace. Her skin was the polished black of a west coast African and her clothes looked as though they cost as much as the Ferrari. She tossed a Michael Kors "Skorpio" satchel handbag into the car, not caring if she scuffed either the bag or the car's upholstery. "Back soon, darling" she called to Norman.

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