The days were measured in potholed roads and friendly rides, in farmer's craggy faces and filthy flophouse rooms. A young bangle seller entreated me for some Western People pills that would give him the bushy beard he yearned for. He changed his mind only when I warned  him that such powerful medicine would be sure to grow black hair on his chest and under his arms. I sat through a long and dusty afternoon at an intersection beside three barbers' trees, and by the time day turned to dark their endless background snipping had became a part of my drowsy consciousness and for weeks crept though my dreams.