Two old men, one stooped and skinny, the other short and bulbous, sat on a bench in the park, talking. Both had elegant-looking canes propped up near their crossed knees. It was a warm spring, the kind where everything was blooming at once .

“I knew this girl once.” Said the stooped one, wiping his brow with a wadded up hand-kerchief.

“That’s a damn shame.” Said the other, his normally jolly face, grave.

“What? I haven’t even told you anything about her.”

“Sure, but all of you stories are sad.”

“Harumph. Anyway, I knew this girl who would leave the state each time she got pregnant. See her family didn’t want anyone to know that their only daughter was getting abortions, so they shipped her off to stay with her aunt in Montana for a few weeks. It finally got to the point where if I heard that she was ‘visiting relatives in Montana’ I would just turn green.”

“You don’t believe in a woman’s right to choose?”

“That’s not the point. I do- but she seemed to ‘choose’ a lot.”

“Well, that’s a damn shame…”