One fun game in Pike City is to ask an old timer to point out all the old brothels. Usually they will point to three or four, and then go on to tell some stories of the customers or Fancy Ladies who worked there. Old ladies are the best source because they can still lecture you on how evil it is to sin and at the same time smile with glee at the remembrance of the old times. Better watch out how you ask, though. If you are too blunt you'll get smacked with a heavy purse for being impertinent. But if you are sly and flirty you might get an afternoon of ginger snaps and brandy and learn some good slang of how they talked saucy in the 1920's. Wandering around by yourself you try to determine where those brothels were. Not that you need to spend money for love. You wouldn't do that. But it would be interesting to stumble into the ghosts of the brothel dwellers. The wind has changed direction off the lake and the night has turned cold. Could the dregs of a ghost brothel keep you warm? Anything would be nice. A cat arrives. It makes a sound that seems so low and lonely that you get nervous. It looks kind of sloppy and sick but clearly wants to rub against your leg. Who can deny a simple pleasure to a simple animal? But didn't Grandma warn you that cats will steal your breath while you are sleeping? Never mind--you are walking around, not sleeping, right? Plus, you might not mind looking as though you were a kind and gentle soul if any pretty girls might be spying on the scene. An owl hoots. You look around but see no owl. Could that over there swan make a sound like that? Meanwhile the little kitty cat you were petting turned into a possum. This is not bad because it could have been an armadillo, too. Or a Tarkus. Never mind exactly what he is, he is cute. You realize that he has a certain presence and charisma. "Hey Possum," you say, "let's be pals. You and me, buddy." You decide to crawl into his pouch, but it's too small, so instead you put him in your front pocket. Off you go for a nice evening stroll. Such a pretty night, with fireflies dancing and bats swooping down to eat them. You find some old coots at a campfire. They have a rusty bucket of something that might be wine. Looks good enough, whatever it is. You show them the possum. They nod, point to the fire. You start to hand him off to them. So this is it. New friends push out old friends just like that. Perhaps a better person would argue for the possum but these guys seem like nice fellas and God gave you teeth and a certain ruthlessness for a reason, didn't he? To give the possum to the stew, go to page 10. To keep the possum as a pal, go to page 11.