Vivian was a seamstress. She was a friend of a friend and I would take my clothes that needed mending to her. Her method was immaculate. Even the most tattered junk I would throw at her would come back good as new; her stitching was invisible. It was almost like the clothes had repaired themselves. I always wondered how she did it but, hell, I don't know square one about sewing so I decided not to really not care.

It was on a Saturday afternoon in late April when Janice, our mutual friend, called me on the phone and told me that she and Vyvian were going out for dinner and drinks. She asked if I would come along. I had just been sitting around my apartment all day and now, in the early dusk, was starting to develop a mild case of cabin fever. I told her 'sure'. We agreed to meet at the place at 7. I walked from the kitchen, through the living room, and into the bedroom. After setting out some clean clothes, I reached across the bed and took 30 bucks out of the nightstand. After a brief moment of hesitation, I turned the 30 to 50. Hit the bathroom, disrobed and showered. I put my fresh clothes on, a button up for the crisp night air.