Back to the Bunker
Well it turns out that news of the Bush Administation's demise was greatly exaggerated but since it took us almost three hours to get the old Volvo started we decided to run a few errands before heading back inside. First order of business was a complete (and I mean complete) makeover for Becky Sue at Chakras. One of her sorority sisters works there and got her in without an appointment.
I was heading down to Zetos to stock up on some drinkable wine but remembered I'd spent most of the checking account balance on a bitchin' satellite radio. I figured I might have a royalty check or two in the post office box Becky Sue doesn't know about (I hope). And darned if I wasn't right. A quick stop by the Wachovia ATM at Friendly and I was liquid again. Since I was in the neighborhood I cruised by the B&N to check the inventory on my books. One of the drab little bookworms had moved my stuff to the Romance section again: "How many times do I have to tell you people, it's historical fiction - the lurid covers are my publishers idea. And besides, how do you know that Admiral Nelson DIDN'T have an octoroon mistress diguised as his cabin boy?" I made room for my books in with the legitimate literature and was headed out the door when I ran into Harley.
Good old Harley. We used to play racquetball every Tuesday at the rec center before he had his stroke. I persuaded him to follow me back to Zetos because I knew they'd let him sample stuff they'd never open for me.
They were having a promotion on Childress Vineyards' Signature Reserve so we tried all three of the offerings. Not terrible. Not terrible at all. But I had my eye on some Spanish reds and with Harley's influence we got into a few. A couple of cases later the checking account was back under a grand again. God only knows what Becky Sue was racking up at Chakras.
Harley started looking a little under the weather and I hadn't even pumped for the latest dirt in the department yet. As I helped him out to his car he stopped and looked me in the eye. "Are you...are you still with Becky Sue." (JEEZ are they still on about that?) "Because... you know, they'd take you back in a second if you'd just, you know, say you were wrong."
OK, so a man has a moment of weakness and his grad assistant is looking especially hot one day and, well...there was the whole election thing and one thing led to another and...Besides, dude the signs are all there and we're just hiding out until this Republican thing passes over like the Angel of Death.
Harley bummed me out big time so when I picked up Becky Sue (who was looking VERY hot - thank you Chakras) she was all like: "Dude, who pissed on your picnic?"
We stopped at Ganache and got a couple of ungodly expensive cheescakes to take back to the bunker. There was a "booze it and lose it" traffic stop on Market Street but the cop took one look at the Volvo and waved us through. Back at the bunker we knocked back a couple bottles of the Valderamino, half a cheesecake and slept soundly through the night. I dreamt of Bill Clinton during the good times.