Good-bye sad life we laughed, the champagne went with it. We waved good bye in a cloud of smoke, we burned rubber all the way to San Pedro only to find we'd arranged for our bags to go elsewhere. As the news came down the line I felt like I had swallowed that last nickel, fifty thousand bucks played onto the county table; a gamble that fell apart at the seams of the bulging money bags. The receiver went down, and I was alone for the first time, felt like the secure palms of my guiding, father Pappi had just slipped away.
The chill of 54 took me by the hand, I could make a few bucks but rarely come up for air. A week on the west coast had nearly cost me my life, the split decision not to go to the Creola Ballroom and buy the first plane home had meant a game cut short but the house came down, two bought it and the rest shimmied up a pipe to meet the snipers on the first floor.