I remember thinking that if I needed the money so badly that I would in effect take it away from little old ladies, somebody might as well shoot me.

No real mystery, just cash. Nothing new about that, either. I even explained that I wasn’t being altruistic or self-sacrificing in any way because I was paying Chuck out of the increase in my earnings.

Some friends and I narrowly avoided mayhem in a lonely gas station in one of Chicago’s scruffier ‘hoods. We had come to the city for an evening of fun, not a trip to the ER. We were all relieved that it stayed that way.

“It was obviously an oversight… I think it’s a great car and I am looking forward to telling everyone I know what a great car I bought from you guys.”

“They didn’t listen to me” was Lenny’s explanation, “or maybe I should say they didn’t listen enough. They were polite and all, but they didn’t seem to think that I knew much about what was happening other than ‘my computer’s broken.'”

Ruby was somewhere in her 60s when I first met her; one of those seemingly ageless Southern women that can pretty much do whatever needs to be done. Even better: she had the most delightful attitude and overall approach to things – people liked her, trusted her, and respected her.