A naive youth fresh on the college scene saw a prostitute lingering on a corner. Not even knowing that she was a prostitute the sight of her summoned up for him visions of the lithe curly-headed beauty of a character in a novel he was reading. He began to befriend the young lady and eventually found his way to the living room of her apartment. "Don't you want to -----me?" she asked, using a colloquial word the youth had never heard. He had to ask her what she meant. When she explained, he replied, "But, I don't even know you." "So? When has that ever mattered?" "It matters to me,' he assured her. "The trouble with you is that you don't have enough scars," and she told him about her army vet boyfriend with all the scars. Then, with wisdom beyond his years and hardly knowing what he said or what he was talking about, the youth added, "I'm sure the scars will come in their time, there is no need for me to hurry them.' Maybe it was a line he had read in that famous novel, he wasn't sure, but it seemed to fit the occasion. The prostitute seemed puzzled. He studied his own smooth face impatiently in her mirror before she ushered him promptly back out into the dark street like some kind of a curious stray cat.
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