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Annette sat alone at one end of the wobbly barroom table, wondering how she had let herself get talked into coming here. She didn't like noisy drunks, and she didn't like loud music. She didn't like alcohol, and she didn't like being flirted with by drooling morons. She didn't like her sister's friends, and, though she tried not to admit it, she didn't like her sister much either. She thought the feelings were mutual.

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"How'd you like to get hold of that?" Roger Goins asked as he stirred his fresh drink. Roger was one of those guys who always talked about strange pussy, but never seemed to make an attempt to get any. He was too pussy-whipped by his wife, Elaine, to take a chance. Me, I was on the look out all the time—but so was my wife, Shirley. It took about fifty years and four marriages for me to learn that a woman who liked to fuck all the time—the only kind I wanted to be married to—was going to fuck somebody else every now and then.

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