The men do their routine, step onto the truck, grab the hand holds, and, ‘Yo!’ The truck rumbles forward, we run to keep up, with a new foul smel... of burnt diesel fuel added to the rest. Deedee’s still running when her hands go to her ears once again just as the brakes shriek. We slide to a stop. I’m mesmerized by the golden glints and flashes off the backs of the circling flies. More trash is dumped into the mouth of the giant orange beast. The truck moves again and we keep pace, always. "How much younger?" asked the surgeon."Say... 10 years younger? Or more? Early to mid twenties?"The surgeon thought for a minute."I think we can make that work," he said.After each surgery, I spent hours at the mirror, looking at myself,watching the scars heal and watching the slow, painful transformation.Bit by bit, Paul disappeared. Ms. Dalton was systematically removinghim, first a nose, then a chin, then the brow and cheek bones. Partswere shaved or filled. Sometimes it took a couple of. More

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