Edgar occasionally walked around the corner and let the Vietnamese women pummel and scrape his feet with their small hands. He was vain about his feet, admired their boniness, the slender toes. He thought of his uncle, the one who'd died over there, a mysterious embarrassment to the wife and children he'd left behind. Today Edgar even asked for an additional woman. She took his hands in hers, lathered his arms with some seedy soap, his dark hairs a jungle of scrub.