Beef cattle, he said. Said as if somehow I should have known the answer along. Lime if I should have studied it in school. As if it were so plain a thing to see that he couldn’t imagine anyone asking about it. Uh huh, I said. 3300 head, he said, 368 acres just south of big bend Texas. Wow, 3300, that a huge heard. Not really he says, we lost 1200 to the bovine flu last year, cost us damn near million dollars. He drained his beer and flagged the barkeep for his bill. And what you do, he said, bet ha sure as shit it ain’t cattle. No sir, you are right about that, I have never really been an animal guy, insurance, I sell insurance. Uh huh, he said putting his credit card back in his wallet. And what exactly do you insure? Well, body parts, specifically special body parts. Special body parts , huh. His mustache rising on his face as he smiled. The brim of his ten galleon hat casting a shadow across top half of his face. Yessir, but maybe not what you think, we insure soccer players feet, pianists hands, supermodel noses, that type of thing. He slide off his bar stool, I best be going, he said. Don’t want to miss my connection. No, I said, you do not want to miss that. The heels of his cowboy boots striking hard against the tile walkway. He walked up the concourse limping slightly on his right leg. His duffle bag slung over his shoulder. Minneapolis must be the moon to him I thought, before ordering another beer.