Roy & George were a habit, following slavishly a thought…a thought that spurned men into action as much as war. That thought was a female, but worse, that thought also was a conquest. When nervous, Roy had the habit of raking his hair the way one would rake their fingers through gold coins. His hair, with its hint of strawberry frappe, he knew, was a favorite with the ladies, and to touch it and fondle it reassured him of his prowess. "Tell me again, George. What does she look like? Give me the details."

"Hey," said the pretty boy, tapping her on the shoulder. "I thought you could use this." He handed her a cup of coffee and smiled. "I guessed light and sweet." "Good guess," she said. They shared a moment of comfortable silence, each staring into the nothing spread about the road. No words, no trite conversation, just breathing and thinking and a whole mess of not getting to know each other. It was the best relationship she never had.

A woman loved a man who came and went, came and went. Always, the woman was there. "Now, now," she’d chide her self, whenever she felt tempted to go to a friend's house, or go to a shop, or simply to go off, walking. "What if he comes, and I’m not here? Why, with his good looks, surely he’d just find another!" So the woman who loved the man who came and went, forever stayed put, waiting.

This was the adult child who, after being given a free plane ticket, told Natalie when she met at LAX that the next time she wanted to be seated by the window. When Natalie paid her admission into a movie theater, it didn’t even rate a "Thank you, cat, dog." No matter what Natalie did for her, there was always an underlying resentment that beat as loud and clear as an African war dance, "You owe me."