When I played the old odd-or-even game with my pals in Belgrade, I must have been old enough to have pubic hair and young enough not to realize there could be less painful ways of playing it. The game must have been played for something or other—a sweet, a drink, a favor, or a cigarette. One of us would dig his hand into his underpants, pluck out a few pubic hairs, pull his hand out, and offer his clenched fingers in challenge: “Odd or even?” Once the wager was made, the count was very thorough. Come to think of it, I must have been old enough to remember this silly game at all and young enough not to remember more than its bare essentials.