"Number matter?" the father said as he stuffed towels into a oversized washing machine."Plenty of cubicles. They's coming and going fast around here,"...said the younger man. "Been through least a hundred." Any number," I told them, "about a forty-two I suppose." I looked around. It was like going back to the place where you were born and finding very little had changed. The smell brought back a lot of memories and some regrets.The man handed me a shirt with number sixty-seven on it and said,. "She stared at me, taken aback.I went on enthusiastically, "It's your... it's your world, like mine is in the movies and the plays. And yours is college and learning to be a teacher. Of course I want to see it."She cleared her throat, propping her elbows on the table and folding her hands. "Speedy, do you know how many boys your age and older--much older--just want to spend an afternoon with me so they can get inside my pants?" Get inside your pants? Hm, that's a funny expression, I never heard. More

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