"Hi," I responded, smiling and trying not to sound as clueless as I felt."You probably don't remember me," she said as she followed me into the store...."I haven't seen you since 6th Grade. Mr. Barton's class, the year after your son had him? I was the 'mayor'."Ah, yes. Mr. Barton, a great teacher, had run a model government in his elementary school classroom. They had elected officials and laws and everything, and I could remember a skinny twelve-year-old girl who had been the mayor, and who. Her custom-made boots looked like they might have paid for the boot maker's oldest child to go all the way through college. Her coal black, bobbed hair was done in a retro fashion out of the thirties.I saw her get out of that semi and wondered how come a pretty, little, fine looking thing like her, wearing a million dollar outfit, was hitchhiking. I mean, she looked like she belonged in Oklahoma City in some millionaire's house instead of walking down a dusty road headed toward a two-bit town a. More

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