Never Be Forgotten
My suits hung neatly in a color-coordinated military fashion as if in the British army waiting for `the changing of the guards’. I stood admirably naked, contemplating the nights’ events. My mind wondered to the deceit of the game that had to be played. With the respect of the men and the desire from the women I justifiably deserved, I conceitedly knew I was in control.
Hemingway Figurado torpedo cigar waited patiently, as if I were a king and it were my servant. Gold liquid perfection of the Macallan 18 scotch glistened, as the sad lustful tunes of Nina Simone, poured out of my vintage Blaupunkt phonograph.
The bark of excitement from my twin albino greyhounds, Socrates and Plato, echoed and bounced off the mansion walls from below, as the limo driver pulled up and onto the crackling gravel driveway.
A sip and a puff and I fastened the clasp to my 1970 Piaget Black Tie ‘Vintage Inspiration’ time piece that I wear with ultimate pride. One last glance in the mirror, and I realized that the gods have been good to me. A smirk and arrogant giggle, and I made my way down the marble spiral staircase.
I slid into the pristine vintage 1939 Cadillac limo, and re-singed the torpedo. I invited the aroma into the interior as I envisioned the look on their faces. The shock that I will bestow upon them tonight, will never be forgotten.