In which we return to the men, in various stages of physical and mental discomfort, after several weeks of the strike.
Watching Ninety Minutes, Adrian almost choked on his potato chips. There she was, the long legs, the whole long length of her, belting out a rebellious blues with the voice that sent goose bumps down his spine. A woman who fulfilled all of Adrian's aesthetic needs, and others very well too. At the thought, he made a spontaneous decision to head to Oregon as soon as he could get away, strike or no strike. A woman like that didn't come along every day. Maybe it wasn't too late, maybe he would be able to persuade her yet to love him a little. And if he couldn't, at the worst he would only be making a fool of himself. It wouldn't be the first time.