First-Time Caller/Longtime Listener

Blake and I pull into the parking lot at 2 A.M. and Hank Crow gives me some minor hell about coming back so late. After chewing me out, he gives me a note saying Tara called and that she can’t come by today or tomorrow.

I give Blake the keys to one of our empty rooms, because the Blue Line doesn’t run this late at night. I’m supposed to watch the desk for the rest of the morning, but I feel like hell, so I just leave the “Closed” sign at the window and lock up. Anyone with a key can still get in, we just won’t do any walk-by business. The Lincoln is not long for this world, so I don’t suppose twenty bucks here or there counts much in the grand scheme.

My room feels funky and musty when I open the door and I figure if I could smell the room, I wouldn’t like it much. I don’t bother to turn off the light, don’t take off my bloody clothes, don’t do anything except flop down on the bed, and the last thing I remember before drifting away was someone calling up to say whether they were for or against the death penalty and the host sounding polite, sounding like she cared, like all the opinions in the world mattered in some way.