That misty-eyed time of year had come around again.
My partner Jake and I had just finished putting the kibosh on some local chiselers and the case was closed. Jake was on his way to Sin City for what he called a "real holiday."
Our right hand, Millie, had headed out to the breadbasket to see her parents; first time in too long, she had said. She was right.
Me, well, I got to thinking about this new place in the heart of the city I had heard about—Chez Kamal.
I decided I'd park myself there for the duration. Some fancy red and green drinks, take in a show or two, have a few laughs, cry a few tears and back to the office by Monday.
The way I understood it, you bought your ticket to get in and you were maybe good for right around 70 or 80 years. After—they carry you out the door, feet first. No one ever walks out.
I was almost there. The highway weaved like a dream. I rolled down the window, took a few drags and felt the cool air on my face.
This was going to be my kind of New Year.
Written Content G.A.M. cc
Downtown Dzianis Kazlouski
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Shots Of Silver™ 2012