"Are you Deborah Conners?"  I repeated the question as clearly as possible.

"My dick, you fucking cut my dick!"  It looks really painful.  She squeezed him so hard her nails dug into the flesh.

"Shut the Fuck up Johnny.  You," she points at me, "outside, now."

I do what she says.  You never argue with a woman during her emasculation of another man.  Never.

The weather is turning colder outside.  My breath comes in clouds.  The two bars I've been around are right near a riverbank and a slow night fog is starting to roll in.

The door bursts open and Johnny stumbles out.  She follows slowly, calmly pulling a tissue out of her purse.

She eyes me up and down like a predator and she cleans the blood and cum off of her hand.

"Follow me."

We walk down an alleyway between the two bars and end up on a walking path that Mick had told me used to be an old coal train track that the city paved over.  Supposed to be cool exercise trail for Morgantown, instead it became a homeless and hooker mecca.

We walk in silence.  Deborah lights a cigarette and walks ahead of me a few steps.  She constantly looks over her shoulder.  

"So, Ricky?  Why do you honor me with your prescence after all this time?"

I stop dead.  "What did you call me?"

"What are you high?  I called you Ricky.  That is your fucking name?  Dipshit."

I find it difficult to breathe, to think, to feel anything other than panic.

"I swear, you can be such a dumbass."

"This may sound weird, but what's my full name, Deborah?"

"Fucking Retard."  She laughs and snarls smoke out of her mouth.

"Seriously, humor me."

"Ricky Davidson."