The keen-eyed cinetrix passes along the following. No one who has been there would be shocked that the story has a Rhode Island dateline. There are 49 states in the Union where one might expect that a man would not want to sleep with the kind of lady who would agree to sleep with him in exchange for a couple of t-bones he says he has at home, but here, it makes sense somehow. Elsewhere, Burrito Lockdown. Curiously, a variation on the burrito incidcent happened to me once in Rhode Island. I was walking near Classical High, toting a Cubano from a local bakery. It was cold, so I had the Cubano under my coat to keep it warm. As I approached the school, a post-Columbine guard accosted me, and asked me to show what was under my coat. (It may be useful to know that this Cubano was approximately the shape and size of a carbine.) I successfully demonstrated that my bundle had a pliablility and porky aroma not characteristic of small arms, but I did find a hair in that sandwich.