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The train was pulling extra cars when it came in to town and we were eagerly awaiting it on the platform. We were not disappointed. Taylor Summers stepped out of her green and gold car wearing a diaphanous rose kimono that blended with the artificial blush of her body. I could not tell if I could see the deep brown of her areoles or if it was merely a crease in the robe. She smiled at us. It was a gorgeous smile.

Her men came out behind her, that lucky little army of oily haired men. They wore work-boots and generous smiles, as if to say, I do not deserve my good fortune, but I enjoy it.

She looked us over with kindness and attention, seeing not our faults but our possibilities. The younger boys stared back confidently, cocky. But, we middle aged men looked back with a little humor at ourselves. Perhaps we did tuck in our stomachs.

Finally she pulled one of us to her. He seemed to change with her approval. Suddenly his hair was a bit oily. His triceps looked like strange countries as he held his arms over his head, as he looked back both a little sorry for us and little caught up in his recent prosperity.

As the train leaves we look at one another. We are pale and unfortunate.

[Forever after at]


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