This story involves a truly solitary man. If he spends any time at all around groups of people, the urge to rend and kill becomes a nuisance.

I'm trying to decide if it's more like the hunger of a hard-core dieter standing around a bakery or the hard-wired brain struggle of a labrador retriever feels when he spots a tennis ball he's not allowed to play with.

I bought a picture from istock (mostly because I was going to run out of credits there) and now I understand people who use photos as inspiration. No rippling muscles or giant peen happening in this picture, in fact, the guy isn't gorgeous. But it's helping me to get things right.

Okay back to work on another story--a Bonnie and Summer historical. It's set in Paris, and Bonnie has written some great atmosphere.