Dean Forrester had the ultimate life. He had money, he had women, he never paid taxes and most of his days were spent playing golf and drinking for free. He was prepared to live out the rest of his days like this - until one phone call from home ruined it all.

Saturday, November 20, 2004

Invisible Short Person

More laughter from seemingly nowhere and time went skittering off again. Bull's hands were moving in wide arcs with extreme speed, but Dean couldn't quite remember him saying anything until, "So I go in for the pizza while Dean here is standing outside."

"With the sign," said an invisible short person.

OK, so the Big Friday Push ended at 35,410 - right about where I needed it, a little shy of where I wanted it to be, but a good night all the same. Then I ended up playing a lot of San Andreas and drinky way too much whiskey. I still have the faint cologne of Jameson and a headache as I type this. My friend Seth is coming down (or over, as he insists, though I tell them that anything in the Great Lakes vicinity is the Great White North and I just don't care), and I might try to sneak in some words before he gets here.

Did I just type drinky? I need a nap.


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