’ Suddenly, George remembered why she looked familiar, he had a picture of the girl. She had been a model in the Sports Illustrated swimsuit calenda... last winter. He was sure of it. Her picture had been one of his two favorites. He even remembered her name, Ginger – something. What was she doing with a washed up tennis bum in Dayton, Ohio? The couple walked to a booth by the wall, ten feet from George’s table. The blond slid in on the side nearest George facing away from him. He could only see. No sign giving the price, or telling me to sit and wait for a blinking light to indicate the shots were about to be taken. No button to push. Nothing.I was about to leave when the screen flickered to life. White letters on a black background read:LOOK DOWN.I did. In the wall beneath the video screen, a dark oval hole beckoned.That wasn't there a second ago. I had just looked that wall up and down trying to figure out how to use the damn booth. Perhaps three inches wide and eight high, the top. More

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