But down at the end of the bar, an owl-eyed drunk slammed his hand down on the counter and bellowed, "Give the ballerina a drink!"The bartender poured...the drink, and the woman chugged it down. She turned to the patrons and again pointed around at all of them, revealing the same hairy armpit, and asked, "What man here will buy a lady another drink?"Once again, the same little drunk slapped his money down on the bar and said, "Give the ballerina another drink!"The bartender approached the little. Over the gate, a rusting arch still proclaimed the name. I walked around the gate and led the way.At first, I didn't recognize things. It had been so long and everything looked so different now. Then, the road passed the old Quonset hut. The curved sheets of tin were no longer silver. Now they were more the color of rust, the window panes grimy with decades of filth."Is that where you slept?" Laura asked, her nose wrinkling as she spoke."No, dear. That is where the tractor slept," I explained.. More

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