I need your signature, please.” His voice has a southern twang, one that reminds me of a country singer, with who's name I can't place. “Sorry to ...eep you waiting, I couldn't part from my book,” I explain myself, as if I needed to. “No problem, Ma'am. I know how it is. You get so sucked into it, you forget the world is still rotating.” “Exactly!” I say, signing my name on his impossible gadget, which just makes my name look like chicken scratch. “There you go, Ma'am. You have a nice afternoon. After everyone's begun to get in their cars and leave, I climb into my rusty old El Camino and glance at the directions. I look in my rear view mirror, checking my make-up before driving to the party house.When I get there, I have to park a block away because so many cars are lined up along the street. I get out, leaning on my car and lighting a clove cigar, inhaling deeply as I look up at the stars. I finish it quickly, then grab my camera and put the strap over my head.I can tell which house. More

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