Tuesday at ten I was entering the ground floor of a three-story brownstone building near downtown. The building seemed well maintained and quaint. It ...efinitely was not modern. It had a very old elevator inside the entryway. I rang the bell in the entry and the same sultry voice said, “Stan?” “This is Stan.” “Come right up. Just step into the elevator and it will bring you to me.” I fairly danced into the elevator. The elevator opened on a plush office on the third floor. The carpeting was. Oh well, small price to pay for pussy. Except, didn’t seem there was any pussy to buy. The hockey players snatched up all the cheerleaders and the whole groupie thing wasn’t paying off with the smart girls. Maybe he could get into drugs?Idea two, the motorcycle, was no longer in the works. Fail three road tests and all of a sudden dad rescinded his offer to go halfs on that Yamaha he wanted. Why couldn’t his parents have forced him into piano or violin or something? If he knew how music was. More

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