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keeping his pack on his lap. He closed the door. The inside of the cab had a sour smell, a mixture of gasoline and rust and old food.
    â€œAll set?” asked the driver.
    â€œYep,” Mark answered.
    â€œGood. Here we go.”
    He let out the clutch and the pickup lurched ahead, startingfor the ditch then cutting sharply for the highway.
    â€œMan,” Bill said.
    â€œBeen waiting long?” asked the driver.
    â€œAll night,” said Mark. “We’re going back to school. We’ve been out on spring vacation.”
    â€œIs that so?” the driver said. “My name’s Billy. Billy Wetzel.”
    â€œMark,” Mark said, “and that’s Bill.”
    â€œPleased to meet you. It’s a privilege to meet such nice-looking boys.”
    Bill looked at him. Underneath that blue baseball cap he was fruity looking, all right, weak, his mouth crumpled in without any teeth.
    â€œThank you,” Mark said.
    Bill said nothing. He took off his coat, wadded it up, put it against the window. He slumped over against it and closed his eyes, listening to the sound of the engine pulling them steadily on.
    â€œYou boys ever do any posing?” It was the old man’s voice.
    â€œPosing?” Mark asked. “You mean modeling?”
    â€œNo,” said the old man, “posing.”
    â€œArtists?”
    â€œNo, people.”
    â€œHow’s that?”
    â€œTables, you see, you walk—”
    â€œTables.” Mark laughed. “You mean walk around with no clothes on—”
    â€œThat’s it.”
    â€œ. . . in front of a bunch of people?”
    â€œThat’s it.”
    â€œHa,” Mark laughed. “How about you, Bill?”
    â€œShit,” Bill said. He closed his eyes again. He knew it. He knew it all along. He could tell by the way the pickup had approached.
    Mark laughed again.
    â€œIt ain’t so hard,” the old man said. “Pays good money too.”
    â€œTell me about it,” Mark said. “I mean, what do you do?”
    â€œYou walk around these tables—”
    â€œWho’s there? I mean, is it just men or women or what?”
    â€œEverybody. All kinds of people.”
    â€œShoot.” Mark laughed. “Don’t you feel kind of funny?”
    â€œOh no,” the old man said. “Why should you? They pay you. It’s just work.”
    â€œYeah, but I mean, well, what do they do? Just look at you?”
    â€œSome of them.”
    â€œJesus,” Bill said, “that’s sick.”
    â€œWhy, hell,” the old man said, “I’ve even had guys pay me ten dollars jus’ so’s they could kiss my belly. You ever had your belly kissed?”
    He was looking at Bill.
    â€œFuck, no,” Bill said, “and I’d kill any son of a bitch that tried.”
    Mark laughed.
    The old man looked away. Bill stared at him, then sat back. He expected Mark to say something. Mark would. Mark would say or do anything.
    â€œYou know, son,” the old man said, “you’re a lucky boy.”
    â€œWhy?” Mark asked.
    â€œNo, not you. The other fellow.”
    â€œHow’s that?” Bill sat up. The old man was looking out at the road, both hands on the wheel.
    â€œYou’ve got a lovely set of teeth, sir—”
    â€œHa,” Mark laughed.
    â€œA blessing, you bet your life it is.”
    Bill looked at him, then sat back again, closing his eyes.
    â€œWhy is that?” Mark said.
    â€œNo taste,” said the old man. “You can’t taste a damn thing.”
    â€œIs that right?” Mark said.
    â€œThat’s true,” the old man said. “Makes you like a little baby again.”
    â€œI see,” Mark said.
    â€œCan’t eat anything solid.”
    Mark didn’t answer that and the voices stopped. There wasn’t any talking for some time. Bill felt himself almost go to sleep. He opened his eyes. They were going