After leaving work, we headed into the parking lot and decided to take a single vehicle. Ford volunteered to drive. He gestured me to his black Mercury Mountaineer, which still bore Illinois plates and stickers.
When I settled into the passenger seat, I chuckled.
“What’s funny?” he asked.
“I pictured you more as a Jaguar or Ferrari type of guy.”
“Then you haven’t lived through a snowy Chicago winter, have you?”
“Afraid not.”
“Count your blessings. Now, where to?”
I directed him to the Westin several blocks away. Although the hotel bar typically served dozens of customers on a Friday night, the gigantic room, at least quadruple the size of my own condo, could have easily housed hundreds, making it relatively simple to find a quiet table or booth away from happy-hour revelers. No blar
