7:32 a.m.
AFTER EXECUTING the most perfect display of parallel parking ever seen in the city of Philadelphia, Cooper Lamb realized not a single soul had witnessed it.
Not his ex. Not his children. Not a random passerby. Not even a meter maid, who normally would be on him like a heat-seeking missile. If no one saw this private eye’s incredible display of automotive prowess, did it actually happen? It was another bummer in a long string of them.
Lamb fished his phone out of his jacket pocket, hit the memo app his assistant, Victor, had loaded for him, and began to speak. He always felt better when he was talking out loud.
Victor, I regret to inform you this is the end of the world.
Maybe not your world. But my world, for sure. I am currently sitting in my car trying to process it all. Trying to figure out what I’m going to tell my kids. Damn…what am I going to tell my kids?
Don’t transcribe that last part, Victor. Yes, I know you’re not personally transcribing these words, that the computer program you designed is doing all of this automatically. But humor me. I can’t stand the idea of talking to a machine.
So let’s review the facts at hand while I await the arrival of my lovely and brilliant offspring, whom I adore completely.
Fact number one: Eagles starting quarterback and national treasure Archie Hughes was shot to death last night. The entire city is in a state of shock and mourning. We woke up to a different world today, Victor.
Fact number two: The NFC championship game has been postponed for some unknown amount of time. Which means nobody will know what to do with themselves until it’s rescheduled.
Fact number three: I was not in possession of tickets to the game, but maybe this is an opportunity. Victor, can you see if there are tickets available? Possibly something in a box? Maybe some fans won’t be able to make it, they’ll be so heartbroken over the loss of the amazing Mr. Hughes. A guy can dream, right?
Fact number four: On Saturday I placed a fairly sizable bet—on the Eagles, of course—with my army buddy Red Doyle down in Atlantic City. I was already sick to my stomach knowing I’d have to wait twenty-four hours to see how it turned out, and, more important, if I’d be ducking my landlord for the next two months or not. Now I get to enjoy a full week of anguish and torment. Victor, next time I mention making a bet, talk me out of it.
Fact number five: Speaking of disappointed, at this very moment my kids are running out of their mother’s house and…oh, it doesn’t look good. Seems as if the awful news has reached my children’s impressionable ears. To be continued.