Pulling up to the airport long term parking exit booths, I gave the attendant my ticket.
“Five bucks,” he said, expressionless. Then, “You decide not to take your trip?”
“Yah, Florida sucks this time of year,” I said.
The young attendant gave me a look like I was crazy. Or just another wise a*s. It was ten degrees below freezing right now. Gray. Damp. Dingy. Albany at its wintery finest. Florida was warm, with sandy beaches, great fishing, cold beer, hot nights, and all the bikini-clad women I could shake a stick at. Now that I thought of it, it wouldn’t be all that hard to get my PI license in Florida. I wasn’t getting any younger, but the Albany winters sure seemed to be getting longer.
“Suit yourself,” he said, handing me a receipt which I shoved into my coat pocket.
Suit yours
