I roll onto my stomach, and she blankets me again. The heated table feels divine against my chest. She fiddles with something under the head of the ta...le, and pieces shift such that my arms comfortably dangle and my face rests in a doughnut-shaped pillow. I can see the floor. When she stands at the head of the table, I can see her feet. She’s not wearing shoes. Just those thick socks—the kind the crunchies wore with their Birkenstocks back in my undergrad days. There’s a small hole in one of. It was something that Tom was expected to acknowledge, like a debt. Between honorable men a debt is never mentioned, but both know of its existence. To mention it demeans both. Tom understood the honor of the old man just as he knew the honor of a visiting War Chief. Tom slightly nodded his head and removed a gold piece from the pocket of his pants. He placed it gently into the old man's hand.The old man smiled. He had not met many white men that he thought worth the time to even look at, but. More

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