Another day at the office and I'm bruised, sore and worn the hell out. Seems odd that I can call that progress, but I'll take it. By the time I've shut off the lights and sent the boys home I'm ready for a drink, or several, at The Deuce. Dee won't be home, some society function or another. At least she's still polite enough to make excuses for me, though I'm not sure how much longer that'll last. Doesn't bother me as much as it should these days.
My Ford coupe growls as I turn the key and we tear off into the night with a squeal of burning tires. I spent so long prowling the streets that I genuinely forgot how much I love driving. Her V8 snarls as I put the pedal down, enjoying the still snowless roads that will all too soon be a memory. It's a fine night to race the devil, and that's just what I do. He still hasn't caught me by the time I reach The Deuce of Clubs, I take that as a good sign.