Ellen Joy Ricky and I were out in the parking lot playing our version of handball. Really it was just slapping a tennis ball against the factory wall and keeping a pseudo type of tennis score. Boy it was hot that day. One of those steamy August days in Chicago. As usual Donna and Annie were sitting on the shipping dock watching us spend our lunch hour running around working up a sweat. At twenty years old neither Ricky nor I had a clue why these two 40 something women would watch us so intently, or had any idea of the thoughts that were going through their heads. Call us naive. We all worked for an advertising specialty company, Ricky and I were shipping clerks, and Annie and Donna were engravers, silk screeners, and general production staff. It was a small company run by Sheldon Roth. Ricky and I were in full lather, our shirtless muscled young man bodies running and pounding the tennis ball into the wall when Ellen Joy, the freelance artist sauntered out onto