The window rolled up. The Maserati pulled away, and I watched it disappear around the corner, already imagining what was happening inside. They wouldn't make it five blocks before Marco found somewhere to pull over.
Good for Anya. At least one of us was having fun tonight.
I turned toward the building and immediately regretted it. The world tilted forty-five degrees to the right, then overcorrected to the left. The brass doors multiplied, became four doors, became six.
I needed to sit down.
The little patch of lawn to the left of the entrance.
I made my way over to it. Slowly. Carefully. Like crossing a tightrope while drunk, which I suppose I was.
The grass was cold. Probably damp. I didn't care.
I sat down—more of a controlled collapse, really—and let my head fall forward between
