Nulla dies sine linea. Four sentences every day. About whatever happened that day. Most of it's even true. Written by Scott Lee Williams
Thursday, August 7, 2014
The rooftop bar babbles with conversation, while the speakers push inoffensive pop through the cool evening air. My third plastic cup of wine hums pleasantly in my chest and turns the quickly coming sunset into a Maxfield Parrish while my boss's boss's boss holds forth.
"Nobody goes into this nursing home and comes out, right?" he continues. "But there he was, ninety-one, running numbers, and when we came to pick him up to get him out of there, he was in a pink suit with a white bowtie."