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Oh, shit. I have to pitch to this guy! I have to stand there on the mound and peer in and get signals from a guy who makes my toes curl. Oh, shit.Baseball and sexual tension do not mix, "Bull Durham" to the contrary. It's a damn good thing I was good at focusing.Luckily, the day flew by. At one point I realized that it was my last day in The Program. And, OK, I didn't mind the last-day fondles I got. I was just worried I'd get too worked up, but I didn't. People seemed to leave me alone towards the end of the day. It was common knowledge I had to go out and pitch at 3:30.Then, finally, we were in the locker room. Mike was taping me up. I put the pads on my nipples myself-Mike chuckled and said he understood why-but he helped me with the ace bandage.Then the coach came in. "OK, Listen up." He listed off the lineup. I was batting 9th. Oh, well. At least I was batting. And we did have a very good leadoff batter, Roger Winn, our second baseman."OK, you guys. Now, I have a problem with. It took maybe half and hour, but soon his legs were hairlessand smooth.The rest of his routine was without incident. He picked out his favoritesuit and spent too much time with his hair, but soon was out the door.One of Jim's morning pleasures was spying the office girls on his way towork. This was New York, and the girls dressed well he always figured, sowhat's wrong with appreciating that? Today, however, his senses were inoverdrive. He noticed every little thing about the women. Some had skirtson that were way, way out of style. Others had shoes meant for fall, whenthis was spring. 'Come on guys!' he thought, 'get a calendar!'Then he saw on blonde coming his way dressed, well, dressed for fun:spandex micromini, strappy sandals, lowcut blouse. 'Jesus,' he thought, 'what a slut.' 'How hard could it be,' he thought, 'to show a little bit more class?Besides, that woman was WAY too old to dress like that.'"Morning, Amy," Jim said to his secretary when he strutted into theoffice. "OMG,.
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Moe laid the crate in the bottom of the grave. He felt a chill under the cool October sky when he dropped the first shovelful of dirt back on top of the homemade coffin. When he was finished, he crossed his body like the nuns had taught him eons ago, and he fell to his knees. He prayed if there was a God that He would forgive Moe and take care of the little girl Moe had just delivered into His hands. Moe dropped off the shovel in Mona’s shed and trudged back to the house. He could smell his own sweat. And Danja’s blood had dried, leaving his pants stiff and fetid. He felt dirty from the inside out. He stood on the back porch, waiting and shivering and hoping the breeze would blow off some of his stink. The screen door creaked, and Mona slipped out beside him. She had bathed. Her skin was shiny and flushed and carried the scent of Ivory soap. She wore a white nightgown, the kind that buttoned from the neck to the toes, and her hair was pulled back in a ponytail. It made her look.

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