"The mail hasn't come yet and you've got someone who's been waiting on the phone." "Is that it?" Stern asked. "Yes," she said. "That's not so bad," said Stern. "Why do you have to make everything sound so terrible?" She walked away and Stern studied her buttocks, rising easily beneath her black skirt. On any other girl, they would have been appealing, but he could not detach them from what he knew about her and they seemed as a consequence downbeat and sorrowful; touching them would have been reaching into a grave. Stern picked up the phone and the voice said, "Loudon here. I've got something you're going to want and I'll only take a second." "Something lousy happened to me," said Stern, "and I'm not doing any business. I just want to get wound up here a minute." "I'll just be a second. Here it is. Hamburg has become the wickedest city in the world. Each year thousands of tourists troop there to visit its sin spots and to be fleeced by B-girls who know every trick of the trade. Strippers along the Reeperbahn go further than in any city in the world and, if you know the right places to go, _further_. Outwardly having no bordellos, Hamburg actually has many, and although its prosperous citizens pretend to have no knowledge of its wickedness, scratch the surface of any old-time Hamburgite and he'll direct you to the door of an establishment where flourishes the oldest profession in the world. That's about it. I go on from there detailing with anecdotes some of the more sordid practices in this bawdy city, which has replaced Paris as Europe's mecca of sin. What do you think?" "What do you mean?" Stern asked. "That's it. I want to do an article of say six thousand words on it for you. I can have it ready in two weeks." "I do labels," Stern said. "For consumer products." "You don't think you can work it in?" the voice asked. "I do labels," Stern said. "And I don't feel good."