They're better than us."I figured Paul had said that for its shock value. --Maybe we were supposed to all jump up and holler "No! No!"But nobody holle...ed. Facts were facts."They're whipping us, and that shouldn't surprise anybody, because they've won 120 games this year..." One hundred twenty?" I thought. Oh -- yeah. --He's counting the post-season, right up until last night."I haven't looked it up," Paul continued, "but if they beat us again, it'll be 121 wins, and I'm pretty sure that. Be patient, Victor, in two hours you're home, getting your cock sucked.So I went, slaloming in the aisles, controlling tickets, giving fines, getting insulted by a band of riffraff from the rough suburbs. After these joyful fifteen minutes, I entered the last car. It seemed empty, and I was going to turn back when I saw some movement in one of the seats, in the back.I walked down and recited this fucking phrase I repeated a thousand times a day. "Hello, ticket control, please."I was now in. More

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