High Living Rogue Blogger"There's a man who leads a life of danger To everyone he meets he stays a stranger With every move he makes another chance he takes Odds are he won't live to see tomorrow..."These lyrics run through Ez's dreams. Maybe, in a previous life, he got them off a tv show. He can't get them out of his mind. "Danger Man..."
"Swingin' on the Riviera one day And then layin' in the Bombay alley next day Oh no, you let the wrong word slip While kissing persuasive lips The odds are you won't live to see tomorrow.."Things are getting hairy. Ez has been holed up in a Gateway condo since last Wednesday. As far as he knows, he's the only one living up there. He only goes out at night and the only lights he sees are up there on six.
It's eerie up there all alone in an empty $3200 a month luxury pad overlooking Ithaca, New York. Enlightened City. Yeah, Ez can see the lights at night out there on the Commons. Enlightened, my ass... Ez says. What people don't know about enlightened little Ithaca.
"Beware of pretty faces that you find A pretty face can hide an evil mind Ah, be careful what you say Or you'll give yourself away Odds are you won't live to see tomorrow.." The maid looks at Ez sort of funny. Maybe it's because of the empty Napoli pizza boxes that are stacking up around the large dining room. There's no furniture up here. Only pizza boxes and empty 40 oz bottles. Ez is too afraid to go to a restaurant anymore. The doorman brings up the beer, the nice people from Napoli are happy to keep the pies coming. Ez has living on pizza and beer for a week now. Paying off the delivery man, the maid, the doorman with fresh, crisp C-notes. A $100 buys a lot of friendship.
Where do those lyrics come from? They keep buzzing around Ez's head.
"The odds are you won't live to see tomorrow."They have to be looking all over town for Ez. He's a wanted man with a price on his head. It wasn't considered polite to filch that Adidas bag filled with money from the Mayor's bag man. The poor guy left his table for only a minute to get a sprinkle of cinnamon for his latte. Maybe Her Honor needed the money. Not for her campaign. What campaign. For other things. She's worked hard for the big box boys, the developers in their slick Armani suits.
They won't look for Ez here. Who would think to look for him up here on the 6th floor of the Gateway Arms..whatever they call this swank brick shithouse. The last place they'd think to look.
"The odds are you won't live to see tomorrow."
Comments invited at: ezrakidder@gmail.com - Peace, Ezra at 7:48 PM
