While Scott and Tyrone had been traveling the same the morning route since Scott had joined the paper, they had been friends since their wives introduced them at the Scarsdale Country Club 10 years ago. Maggie Mason and Arlene Duncan were opoosites; Maggie, a giggly, spacey and spontaneous girl of 24 and Arlene, the dedicated wife of a civil servant and mother of three daugh- ters who were going to toe the line, by God. The attachment between the two was not immediately explainable, but it gave both Scott and Ty a buddy with their wives' blessing. The physical contrast between the two was comical at times. Duncan was a 240 pound six foot four college linebacker who had let his considerable bulk accumulate around the middle. Scott, small and wiry was 10 years Ty's junior. On weekends they played on a very amateur local basketball league where minimum age was thirty five, but there, Scott consistently out maneuvered Ty- rone's bulk. During the week, Tyrone dressed in impeccable Saville Row suits he had made in London while Scott's uniform was jeans, sneakers and T-Shirt of choice. His glowing skull, more dark brown than ebony, with fringes of graying short hair emphasized the usually jovial face that was described as a cross between rolly-polly and bulbous. Scott on the other hand, always seemed to need a hair- cut. Coffee in hand, Tyrone plopped down opposite Scott as the train pulled out of the open air station. "You must be in some mood," Tyrone said laughing. Scott laid down his newspaper and vacantly asked why. "That shirt," Ty smirked. "A lesson in how to make friends and influence people." "Oh, this?" Scott looked down at the words on his chest: I'm O.K. You're A Shithead. "It only offends them that oughta be offended." "Shitheads?" "Shitheads." "Gotcha," Ty said sarcastically. "Right." "My mother," groused Scott. "VCR lessons." Ty didn't under- stand. "I gave my mom a VCR last Christmas," Scott continued. "She ooh'd and ah'd and I thought great, I got her a decent present. Well, a couple of weeks later I went over to her place and I asked how she liked the VCR. She didn't answer, so I asked again and she mumbled that she hadn't used it yet. I fell down," Scott laughed out loud. "'Why?' I asked her and she said she wanted to get used to it sitting next to her TV for a couple of months before she used it." Tyrone caught a case of Scott's roaring laughter. "Wheeee!" exclaimed Tyrone. "And you an engineer?" "Hey," Scott settled down, "my mom calls 911 to change a light- bulb." They laughed until Scott could speak. "So last night I went over for her weekly VCR lesson." "If it's anything like Arlene's mother," Tyrone giggled, "trust- ing a machine to do something right, when you're not around to make sure it is right, is an absolutely terrifying thought. They don't believe it works."