So I wouldn’t be the Old Man of the Mountain, father of all assassins, but rather would I be his friend the poet who sat under a tree by the fountai... in the royal courtyard, paid a monthly stipend in gold with which to drink and think about sex and to write about thinking and drinking.After all who now can recall the political reasons or pure greed which motivated the drug addled murders of the hashishins- while every one even now recognize at least two lines of the poet’s verse. “A loaf of. Why can't we work something out instead?"She was genuinely terrified of me calling her parents. I was puzzled, then it hit me. Maybe she wasn't really strapped for cash. After all, she just came home with handful of bags from very expensive retail stores. She uses top named brand products. Maybe she her parents were helping her but she was using the money for other things. Maybe she didn't want her parents to find out.This just got interesting."Why wouldn't you want me to call your folks?. More

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