I didn’t have a TV either and I had read all my books and didn’t have money for more. I was putting what money I had into paying for my new domicile and keeping up my half-ass pickup. I had traded in a banged-up Chevy Nova with hardened gum stuck beneath the dashboard and a rotting pack of rubbers in the glove box for it. Those rubbers and the gum had come with the car, and I had been more than glad to pass them on. The pickup was only better than the Nova in the pollution department. The Chevy Nova had damn near been a mosquito fogger.

All I had of my old life was an ancient stereo and a few playable records I’d rescued from the mess of my home after a tornado. I had one CD that had been given to me, but no CD player.

As Leonard drove me around to my car, we were heavy into a philosophical conversation. He was telling me about his love life. I said, “You like John ’cause he’s got eight inches?”

“Yeah.”

“That’s kind of shallow, ain’t it?”

“Yeah.”

“You’re jerkin’ me again, aren’t you?”

“I’m tellin’ you it’s the same as when you buy a burrito. Big is better than small.”

“Size doesn’t mean a thing.”

“You say. What would you know? You ain’t a dick man.”

“No, but women say it doesn’t matter.”

“Women are liars. Hey, you like titties?”

“What?”

“Titties?”

“Yeah. And I see where this is going. I like any size tittie. Long as it’s a friendly tittie.”

“But you like big titties?”

“Yeah, but you’re not roping me into some bullshit here. I don’t think a woman’s got to have big hooters to be worth something.”

“Yeah, but if she’s worth something and has big hooters, you like that, don’t you?”

“Well, yeah, but that doesn’t prove anything.”