Glory Days  I'm standing in an area that seems to be like the old Demo Mall. I see a man, who asks me, after recognizing me, where the location is of the team I scored the winning basket against in high school basketball. I ask him, nonchalantly, but definitely to boost my ego, which, of the two games, did he mean. He indicates vaguely, and I point up on the wall, on a large blotch of piece of paper, to Nimen, and also point to where Wilmerton is. I say that was the game in the second round of the playoffs that we beat our cross-town rivals. He indicates he was at the game. I say, "Oh, glory days..." He doesn't seem to understand what I mean by that, so I repeat it and explain what I mean, but then he seems to understand, so I stop. I ask him what he does. He says he's an NFL scout. We talk as if he missed an opportunity by not recruiting me when I was in high school. We talk about New York. I walk into a lunchroom area where there are two U-shaped arrangements of tables: one inside the other. I sit down on the inside of the outer U table. There are other men in the room. I have two cans of soda and something to eat. One of the men has a deck of cards, and is playing with it as he eats. Another man farts. I want to bring about a spirit of camaraderie: to have some fun and get to know these guys.