"It's him!" A dozen women cut through the row of trees lining the nearby walkway. Forget any semblance of privacy and respect in this place of mourning. It was like the running of the bulls as they charged us. They were led by Tia, who'd forgone her red leather trench for a demure sundress.

Bitch shouldn't have stood me up.

"Can I have your autograph? I know it's rude, but I'm your biggest fan." Tia's voice quivered. Oh, she was good. As she spoke, she drew closer and ...