This
week I
bring you a little tribute to some pals who are particularly
enthusiastic about
being invited to happy hour. It’s fictional; all similarities to real
people
are purely coincidental. Inspired by a joke from a while ago. Um...
things get kind of intense here. I got a little into this one.
The following is best enjoyed with some background
music: http://www.youtube.com/watch? v=DF43b38k0Mw&list= PLYKYvzEOROHiHdF01o5lsmKWdQkIJ bW40
From The [] Files
On a cold,
bitter day in February, the wind was biting my cheeks like a teething golden
doodle puppy. It was the sort of day you wanted to ignore, wrapped tight in the
embrace of some sweet scotch, a slow smoke, and a fast woman—not necessarily in
that order.
I unfurled
my collar against the chill. There would be no scotch—not yet, anyway. There
would be no smoke but the hot breath I left in my wake to fade into the cold
[] night behind me; no women but the anonymous passers-by biting
their lips at me from under umbrellas. I was on the job—and not just any job.
This one promised to take me down the darkest alleys, through the sleaziest
dives, and into the most seductive hospitalities in town. It was exactly my
kind of gig.