* * * * * Deborah. I stepped up to the cashier’s position at the front desk. Holding a damp washcloth to my swollen, broken nose, with one hand, I held up my safety deposit box key with the other. Cute, redheaded Deborah glanced up at me from her desk, spotted the key, smiled and nodded. She then opened up a box containing safety deposit cards; found my card, stood and handed the card to me. Presently, I’m quite the sight, dear reader. Blood has dripped down the front of my beige pullover, my left eye has swollen completely shut, and the washcloth barely conceals my broken nose. Picking up a pen from its holder, I filled out the card, as Deborah developed a concern with my appearance and asked, “Are you alr...