An old coot from the midwest strolls the midway; he's at least clean, but not at all stylish, in old jeans and sneakers, a vintage checked shirt, and a faded tan sailor cap. He pauses in the crowd listening to the barker in front of the hootch cootchy show. "Ill be derned", he thinks; "I haven't seen one of those in a carnival since I was too young to go in one anyhow. Now do I or don't I. Judy'd kill me if she thought I did, but I always wondered if the shows ever amounted to anything. Heh; 'Liz the Squeak'; that's a funny name for a hootchy-cootchy dancer."