I am probably going to die soon. A lot of ghosts, absent for years and years, have suddenly began contacting me. Kim (AKA the Anti-Kate), was one of three in a single week.
Anyhoo, it had been about three years since I had seen either Kim or Beth, and as luck should have it, they randomly ran into a mutual friend (that I am still in touch with) and randomly mentioned plans to visit Las Vegas. The mutual friend then not so randomly mentioned my current whereabouts. The rest is history.
I drove to the strip after work and we decided to do something stupid and touristy: get ridiculously huge Eiffel Tower daiquiris. The bartender, doll that he was, made them “extra strength.” It got Beth silly; it got me singing; and got Kim sick.
Welcome to Vegas!
We did a lot of walking that night. Eventually we found ourselves sitting in a swanky bar in Planet Hollywood (casino). I was telling some contorted yarn or other, emphasizing my points with flailing hands. A waitress approached our table, unaware we were simply loitering, and walked right into my cigarette. I apologized profusely, but she gritted her teeth and pretended nothing was wrong, despite the fact her uniform was ruined.
I vowed never to tell another story while drinking fruity rum in a cup shaped like a landmark ever again.