Dear Young Man, You were the means to my first UM football game. Though the Event was very important to me, some friends and I were a little behind schedule. I distinctly remember marveling at how the stadium could hold my entire hometown. And my, the freedom of being around so many unattractive women. How carefree and joyful it was! In our exchange, there was no need for names. I approached you somewhere on the way to the stadium. My friends had tread this path before and did not feel my apprehension. The remotely illicit nature of our transaction made Michigan's ovular stadium seem an ill-fit for this square peg, but things began anyway. Both your baseball cap and your introduction to puberty appeared new. You found humor in my mammoth beard and ridiculous glasses, but were polite enough to try and conceal it. Thank you for that, by the way. I do not recall the agreed price for the tickets. I don't remember how much money I brought with me to see the game. But I do remember, after we were swept in a crowd of women who worried their purses were too big to comply with stadium rules, that I recounted my money. "Jeff Smoker smokes crack!" said the black guy selling t-shirts just outside the stadium. I had an extra twenty and was missing a George Washington. I shorted you 19 bucks, kid. I turned and looked for you. When I told my friends, they did the same. You were nowhere to be seen and the Brown Jug beckoned. Yes, it is many years after the fact. And, to be honest, I don't wake up in cold sweats thinking about it. But during long drives, or when I get together with friends who rib and remind me about it, I feel bad. You were not had, child. I am just a clumsy idiot. Please forgive me for the mistake. Sincerely, Caesar