“Excuse me, Miss, do you live here or know if this building’s Number is 67?” – said the man, a few feet behind me, with such a charmingly deep...voice. Trying to mask the instinctive blush that was about to form on my face, I replied to him that it was Nr.67, or that I thought so despite not living there. I had also explained how the snow outside must have covered the building’s sign. He smiled at me and stepped in the dim entrance hallway, letting the door continue screeching behind him. I. Sam came in a couple of times a week to give Sherry and Lynn--andeveryone else within reach--his usual speech about how tough theconstruction business had been for him and how easy they had it, regalingthem for a couple of hours before heading off for his three-martini lunchand an afternoon of sports viewing, dozing in front of his television.Mr. Sam, as Lynn called him, also had a secret affection for exotic sex,which he could exercise now to the limit of his endurance, since his dearwife had. More

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