Peter slept hugging Corinne"s body. The doorbell awoke him from his beautiful dreams with whips, dominatrix and all those beautiful and tender things.
“Hello?” He glanced sidelong at the alarm clock, 7:15 A.M.
“What sick bastard is calling at this hour?”
“Don"t you remember me, Peter? “It was the voice of the little man in the tweed jacket, Deeper Throat.
“If you still want to know the truth Peter, get a lot of bills. We"ll meet in the abandoned central library. Come alone.”
The name of that place aroused Peter"s childhood fears.
“Behave properly or the smoking librarian will smoke you away.”
The usefulness of a librarian was lost in the night of time. No one knew what a library was for, much less a librarian. Although some scholars assured that they were centers where the tobacco
