The poker game ends and the team of entrepreneurs and new media types say their good-byes. I leave up $51 bucks, which is a nice return given my $100 buy-in, but it’s a pittance against others leaving with wads of cash big enough to substitute for butt-cheek implants if so desired.
The last time I was out until 3:30am was when George W. proclaimed we won the war. There are so few cars on the road, when I do see one, I wonder what trickery lies ahead. There’s a certain tranquility one feels when others are sleeping. Dim yellow lights glow in San Francisco’s misty haze. Nobody bothers you because nobody is conscious enough to care.
Almost home, I decide to instead drive towards the Bay and take in the silence of black murky waters and a revolving spotlight that perpetually emits from Alcatraz. I wondered if this calm is how Frank Lee Morris felt before he tried escaping The Rock some 48 years ago.
TAP, TAP, KNOCK