I knew a guy – back in the 60’s, had a scar from an iron on his belly, just above his belt line, You could tell it was an iron – must have hurt like hell? Said it happened in the Navy, loading shells over by Vietnam. He let the truth slip one night, too many cocktails at the Busy-Bee Club. His second wife had put it to him; she liked to fight – dirty. Cost him fifteen hundred dollars to replace three of her teeth from the punch that knocked her out that night. In those days they called it passion and when the blood boiled, you let it – boil. He said the marriage lasted another year, until she came at him with a broken beer bottle and that even though she’d moved to Reno he still carried a Mexican switchblade. Just incase – she still loved him.