Then the damn thing died. Right in the middle of frat row. She grabbed her phone to call the auto club. It was dead too. No battery left. It could be ...orse, but not much. Maybe she could borrow a phone; maybe someone could still get here and get her pile of junk running so she could get home in time. She knocked on the door of the nearest house.“Hello, Ma’am. May I help you?” The clean-cut man looked up and down Marcie’s body. His eyes not nearly as polite as his words.Ma’am? Had he really. He started making small talk in his low quiet voice and I nervously replied. Our trysts had been very hush-hush and his presence here made me squirm as my conscience turned a spotlight on my clandestine activities so all could see. I turned the conversation to a safe subject … cars, mine in particular. After I checked out of work we stood outside talking and I mentioned that I had just put in bucket seats in the front of my ’57 Chevy. We walked over to the car, inspecting them as I told how I. More

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