We drive to the Extend Stay America that’s within view of the Albany International Airport. While Edge and Rob wait in the Jeep, Sarah and I proceed to rent a room. When the suited man behind the counter asks for a credit card, Sarah gives him a sob story about mistakenly leaving our ID in our bags on the flight up from Florida.
“Stupid silly mistake,” I add, my lips pursed, head shaking. “Totally my fault.”
“You don’t have ID of any kind?” the dark haired young man pleads.
I pat my bush jacket pockets, shake my head, assume an expression of total dejectedness. A total loser. That is, until I dig into my left jeans pocket, come back out with what’s left of Edge’s greenback’s roll, shave off a fifty, release it, and allow it float down gently onto the counter like a fallen November oak l
