”I signed the registration card, he took an imprint of my Amex card, and then handed me the key. I thanked him again, then left the office, got into...my BMW, and moved it in front of my room. I got out of the car, grabbed my bag, put on my fedora, and let myself into the room. I emptied my bladder, unpacked my bag, then made a trip to the State Liquor Store to get a bottle of bourbon. I took that back to my room, checked my watch, and decided it was OK to head to Martin and Vickie’s house.I. I put my thoughts on hold while I thank the barista and scoop up a spoonful of cream from the top of the steaming mug. Mmm… delicious, warm — the way you make me feel… Damn. I put the mug down. Appetite lost again.You're not here. That's the crux of it, the problem. You're rooted in your own soil, held fast by work and family commitments: children from your failed marriage, elderly parents, a job that makes a difference to people's lives. I have the latter but nothing else. No family any more.. After all, parking revenue was “money for nothing and your chicks for free.” By his junior year he was taking business classes that he thought would help him buy or manage parking lots, and working on personal connections he would need to “break into” the business. Over the two years that followed his father’s death, Mike also became a better thief and con-artist. He learned how to convert money from cash and launder it, and to store his earnings out of sight of both the IRS and his. "If that's the case, why do they have to be so sexy, with all that pretty lace trim?... And what about camisoles and teddies and French knickers?... Why do they all have to be so pretty when they are underneath a woman's outer clothes? No one gets to see them anyway. And why are they made from silk and satin and lace?... And why is it only women that get to wear nice silky underwear when a man's underwear is so dull, boring and practical?..." I don't know. I hadn't thought about it. I can't.
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