"What's your
social security number?"
She hesitated and then told him. "A very nice number," he said.
"I've always thought so. It will be especially nice if I make it to
retirement age."
"All you have to do is sign," Oliver said. "Here." He handed her the
pen and swiveled his body so that she could use his back.
"Yi! What am I doing?" The pen moved firmly across his shoulder blade.
"A good thing, that's what you're doing--what we're doing," Oliver
said, putting the application in the bag.
"Cute pen," she said.
"It's a space pen--writes upside down or in zero gravity. NASA uses it."
"My father worked for NASA."
"Oh, yeah? What did he do?"
"He was an engineer, called himself a launch pad maintenance man. He
and my mom live near Daytona. He's retired."
"You don't have a southern accent."
"I grew up in Brunswick, just down the road from Bowdoin. My dad worked
on the base for years. He's from upstate New York."
"And your mother?"
"Local gal. She's gotten used to Florida. I don't know if I could. I
mean, you can get used to just about anything; but . . ."
"Nice in January," Oliver said. "I know what you mean. I grew up in
Connecticut.
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