THE BANANA STORY. Mary Jane likes to tell a story about a banana. For several years when we lived in New York City we had a reservation every Saturday night for a tennis court located in a converted chemicals warehouse in Long Island City. We took the subway—the 7th Avenue local and then the Flushing line. We were in a rush one evening, and Mary Jane brought a banana for me so I would have some supper to tide me over. Mary Jane noticed a family sitting across from us watching me eat the banana. She exchanged looks from me. Apparently they all expected me to be stuck with a banana skin for the rest of the ride. Mary Jane says that I finished the banana, looked around puzzled, and then handed Mary Jane the banana skin.

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