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Damn, I really hate this fucking job. I don't know how many times I have said that over the years, but here I am 11 years into my career as a traveling linen salesman. A career that for the most part has led to some very generous bonuses. Thinking to myself; of course most of them were not monetary, as I smiled, thinking back about a young housewife whom I had called upon several years ago. Jennifer was 22 and built like a dream come true. As it so happened her husband was a traveling salesman also. How ironic I had thought at the time. If I was married, and had a woman at home that looked like that, I would try and get a career that I could do from my home, and in bed, I chuckled.

I was canvassing a nieghborhood on the west side of a Chicago suburb, knocking on doors and displaying my goods to women whose husbands had too damned much ambition or chose careers that kept them away to long. Jennifer answered the door after the first ring of the doorbell. She was dressed in spandex and was all sweaty from her workout. She smiled at me and said she wasn't buying anything. But for some reason she didn't close the door. She invited me in and offered me a cup of coffee. I gratiously accepted and she asked me to have a seat in the kitchen.

She brought me a steaming mug and sat across from me with her own. We talked for hours. She was so easy to talk too. So full of life and happiness. But underneith it all I could not help but detect a bit of lonliness. I was attracted to her from the start, but knowing she was ...

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