She had dug out a black playsuit she had and nervously wobbled in heels, as she made sure it looked OK. It was satin black, with a V neckline that came down the side of her breasts and loose shorts that finished just below her bottom. She had on a deep teen red lipstick, dark mascara and purple eyeliner that highlighted her cerulean blue eyes and her hair was pulled back into a tight, sleek high ponytail. She took a deep breath, toyed with her lip some more and then she opened her bedroom door. John Boerman, the home manager, was outside unimpressed and stoic and when he saw what Abby was wearing he pushed out his chest and folded his arms and said she was not going anywhere japanese looking like that. “It’s past curfew,” he added authoritatively. “You have to stay in.” They argued. It was a blur. Abby said he couldn’t stop her, and he said that he could and then what happened next was so fast Abby couldn’t really be sure on the details. One minute he was stood in front of her red in the face Hairy and telling her to go back inside her room and the next he was crumpled a the bottom of the stairs, groaning lightly and almost foetal. Something was pooling out from his head. There was a dark smear on the wall. She thought maybe she might have pushed him but she could not remember. And then she was outside—running down the street and heading away from the care home into the night. She wondered if he was dead. It occurred to her that she hadn’t even checked to see if he was breathing. She considered calling an ambulance, the police, someone, but she didn’t and then she was a few streets over and she hailed down a sleek back Uber and they were driving away. The driver asked, “where to, miss?” She flashed the black card to the driver and asian handed him the paper and asked him if he knew what it was. He raised an eyebrow and said, “sure. But it’ll cost you.” Abby handed him a masturbation couple of notes and he shrugged and took them gratefully and stuffed them into the top pocket of his three-day old shirt. He told her it was a black card and looked at her like she should have understood. “Honey that’s a card for the 1% of the 1%. It’s a free pass. Unlimited credit. No spending limit. Hidden trade line. It’s an invitation only charge card. I spluttered, "You can't come in with me!" “Must be teen Brandon.” I muttered. “Hey!” Claudia called out, “getting squished here!” "That's not like you at all." She picked a steak house that was about a mile from Stanford. Pls don't am not gay, pls : I’d love to see it asian sometime.” Chloe stated, moving her hand towards the waistband of his shorts. What every girl dreams about every time they pick masturbation up a romance novel at the drugstore. He quickly washed the makeup and lipstick from Abigail’s face. We took japanese a couple of minutes to dry our eyes and reign in our emotions, but it was hard…. Hairy