Please, no phone calls, no letters.
Nothing can change this.
The next day on the way to the racetrack I dropped the letter into the mailbox.
I felt reborn.
I might still have to fight some more to get free.
But I'd go to court.
Anything. Somehow, I felt sorry for Joe Singer.
But, damn it all, I was free again.
On the freeway I turned on the radion and lucked onto some Mozart.
Life could be good at times but sometimes some of that was up to us.
AM Was going down the scalator at the track after the 6th race when the waiter saw me.
You going home now?" he asked? "I wouldn't do that to you, amigo," I told him.
