Firstly, it was scary what the wrong group of men could do to her. Rob? Assault? Murder? She couldn't stop those ideas flooding through her mind, what...could she do to stop them?Secondly, she adored young men. The look of them, the smell of them, the tight ripples of their stomachs, the light tan of ther smooth skin, their easy smiles and the light hair that lead from their navels down towards their groins like an arrow pointing the path to pleasure. She adored them, but only the ones that lived. Willy passed as we so eloquently called death, Miss Ethel became an almost nightly fixture in our kitchen. The cigarette smoke added another layer of yellow to the walls as these women shared the pain of loss. I do not remember all of their stories, but I will never forget the strength, love and companionship of those nights. There is one story that I do remember. I hold it close to my heart. For me it epitomizes these people, their lives and the sense of community that I have never found. More

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