After Bill Tuck, the owner, had seen me a few times,and realised I wasn't a visitor but a local, we had got to chattingwhilst waiting for the fish to ...ry - just the usual bloke stuff.But when it got to the bit about whether I was living with anyone, and Iconfessed that since the divorce, I'd been rather lacking in that area,Bill suggested I ask Maid Marion out for a meal. Maid Marion was theincredibly plump, middle-aged waitress in the associated fish restaurant- and her name really was Marion.. Things just got infinitely worse.David was a white man nurtured in the cradle of the upper middle class. The furnishings in the sparse, dilapidated bedroom were the belongings of a family living at or near the poverty level.Now tears did leak from the ducts on the former man's African-American face."I sowwy, Mommy. I just so hungwy," pled the little girl, tears sprang into her eyes also.A name sprang into David's mind . . . Tonisha. The little girl's name is Tonisha. Where had that come. More

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