Cute. Enticing even. Roman to boot, for sure. Or perhaps only medieval. Tattooed on my No. 1 son’s left arm, as well. There is an entire organization behind it, he tells me, and on the World Wide Web. To the best of my understanding, it deals with bikes and biking. And in New York City, of all places. But the Roman numerals fascinate me in their own right: six-hundred and sixty-six. Six characters all told. Dee, cee, el, ex, vee, i. Beautiful. Vibrant. Which confuses me no end, for I could not care less about the razzmatazz surrounding the number itself. The evil number, as it were. All I care about are the Roman numerals as such: DCLXVI. I read through them over and over again, but without any palpable effect. In the end, the old Latin does not seem to help a single bit. Disappointed, I give up at long last. Beauty offers next to no real help, anyway.