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Sometimes, there’s no plan at all. Only improvisation.

I remember everything about that night: the truth, the terror, the luck, and the lies. Someday I want to forget.

As always, Larry’s Tavern was dark and dank as a moldy cellar. A woman sitting at one end of the bar had hiccups. A leathery, trailer park grandma in a frizzy red sweater, she kept herself company with big gulps of bourbon and ginger ale. A stocky boomer guy slumped at the other end of the bar, wearing a gaudy blue golf shirt with a shiny brown sport coat.… Read the rest