Benny had been in charge of the Bingo Hall for 42 years when it happened. In the early days, he was the caller of numbers: proud to set a modern trend by calling only the bare numbers themselves with no silly rhymes as had been the erstwhile rage. Then he had to have a throat operation to rectify all the wear and tear caused by the old smoke in the Hall. He then couldn’t even hold a conversation with himself which he’d often voice alone. The Bingo Management allowed Benny to stay on as manager – with his experience in keeping the books balanced and the balls lop-sided. He hired a buxom lady-caller – someone who spent her time floating on a deceptive mill-pond inside her mind and maintaining a fixed baggy look under her brow like the Lone Ranger’s mask. She only came to life upon opening the mike and staring steelily at all the ancient ladies with their thickly indelible marking-pens and the rough coloured paper that the numbers were printed on. “33 – Blonde and free; 55 – Sexy alive; 69 – Body wine; 77 – Bed in Heaven...” With all these innuendoes, Benny asked her (by handwritten note) to keep her numbers bare – no need to embroider them. But when she later slipped in a non sequitur: “42 – Rabbit Stew...” that was it for Benny. You see, Benny had a fatal attraction for Bunnies.