The night air is somewhere between perfect and ideal, so I kiss Lola on her forehead then head out for a walk. The thinnest sliver of moonlight hangs over the western horizon as I walk past the thin line of red lights overhead in the business district. After a couple of miles I’m back at the Jeep and fire up the motor. It’s exactly 9:11 on the clock. A minute later the radio is playing Leonard Cohen singing “Jazz Police” and an ambulance with flashing lights flies past in the opposite direction. I head for a tavern and order a pint. The blues band plays “Sweet Home Chicago” and I order a second round.
