Dodge and I are running down the street with a bag of money, cackling with glee.
I was near the end of my rope when I was assigned to cover a fashion show this weekend.
I don't know if I was excited or terrified when I heard Dodge Enbern was flying in to shoot the event.
Probably a little of both.
You see, Dodge's reputation as a party animal preceeded him.
I had fallen pretty hard off the the wagon since my divorce, and didn't know if I could hang with a famous gonzo photographer and a bunch of fashion models.
Dodge could see I was anxious when I picked him up at the airport, and tried to help me relax.
"We've got a couple of hours, let's go to your place and pregame."
At my apartment, he pulled out a bottle of Jones Scotch and a bag of weed.
"Did you bring that on the plane, man?" I asked.
"Sure," he said rolling a joint faster than anyone I've ever seen.
"Isn't that dangerous?"
"Nah, not really. This is a cool dog."
"Cool. You should bring her with us. Let's go, we'll smoke this on the way."
My concerns, it seems, had been validated-
Two and a half hours after meeting Dodge I was driving drunk with him and Zelda while we smoked Jamaican weed and drank Japanese beer.
The worst part was how at ease he made me feel about it.
Our wrecklessness only got worse at the fashion show.
Dodge is like a God.
He the only guy ever I've seen receive cocaine from famous models.
We missed half the show partying back stage.
I don't remember him taking any photos.
Security got all pissy when Zelda walked out onto the runway.
Dodge punched a guard and grabbed two models by the wrists.
I scooped up Zelda and ran after them.
A minute later all five of us were weaving around cab traffic in my Accord.
"We should head to Atlantic City for the fight," Dodge said lighting another joint.
It sounded like a perfectly reasonable idea coming out of his lips.
"We need some money to have a good time. You got any money?"
I didn't, but I did have a sensible suggestion of my own.
"No, but I know a bodega run by a bookie. There's probably lots of money there."
The alarm sounded off immediately after the garbage can went through the front window.
We were in and out like a couple of old-school cat burglars, and set to go put some big money on Pacquiao.
Wait- where's Zelda?
DADDY is banging on a metal box in the back of STORE, while ZELDA digs into a bag of TREATS.
ZELDA's never had so much fun!
Tonight started when DADDY brought HOME a new FRIEND for ZELDA.
At first, ZELDA didn't really like FRIEND, since he just ate fire smoke and drank the bad water with DADDY.
But then FRIEND wanted to PLAY lots with ZELDA, so ZELDA liked FRIEND lots.
DADDY and FRIEND started to leave for WORK, but FRIEND convinced DADDY to bring ZELDA with them.
ZELDA was so excited!
ZELDA hadn't been to DADDY'S work since that time ZELDA got out of my CAGE.
This WORK was different, though. It was a bunch of people watching sickly MOMMIES WALK in a straight line.
ZELDA tried to WALK with the MOMMIES, but they didn't want to PLAY with ZELDA.
People started yelling at ZELDA for no reason, so FRIEND hit them!
DADDY and FRIEND grabbed two of the skinny MOMMIES and we all ran out.
In the car everyone drank more bad water and ate more fire smoke and kept shouting "FITE NITE!"
We went to a STORE when nobody was there.
DADDY never takes ZELDA to a STORE, but this time we went in through the WINDOW.
DADDY and FRIEND are beating on a box in the back and yelling "FITE NITE" while ZELDA explores all the bags of TREATS in the STORE.
ZELDA can smell all the different TREATS just inches off the FLOOR, and no one's here to say "NO."
ZELDA dug into a bag of orange TREATS, and they were yummy, like crunchy CHEESE.
ZELDA's never had such a fun time.
And these TREATS are so GOOD...
Wait, where's DADDY?
Okay, I'm only going to say this once-
Bring it back.
All of it.
When I heard someone hit my shop, I thought, "must be a crackhead. No one who knows me would dare do this."
Lo and behold I find out it's someone who not only has heard of me, but works with me at the Post.
Did you think I wouldn't recognize you, Conner?
I've got 12 minutes of you fumbling through my bodega, breaking shit, stealing my money and cookies.
And, as if that weren't enough, you left you're fucking dog.
That was a crackhead move.
Who brings a dog on a job?
If you ever want to see it alive again you'll bring it all back and come face me like a man.
Don't let me find you at Jones Tower or buying a bag from Rickety Rodney.
You'll only make my wrath worse and turn this pooch into my girl's next handbag.
It'll look classy with a gold zipper and this dogtag with your address on it.
Bring whoever that douchebag was that was with you, too.
I'd like to have a word with him, too.