Yeah, there was a woman, there always is.  She was a tall, willowy redhead

in five-and-a-half inch stilettos and still taller dreams of fame and fortune.

     She said her name was Randy--short for who-knows-what and I had met

her in a who-knows-what gin joint along The Strip with my own dreams all

but played out.  To my real name, I had $157.14, a second-hand Hudson Hornet and a U.S. Army service revolver I took from a fellow vet in a crooked

card game.

     Randy and I spent two and a half months of unwedded bliss at Hernando's

Hideway until she ran off in my Hudson and stiffed me with the hotel bill.

     Through it all, I thought I still loved her but so what.  I figured I'd be seeing her again soon on 66 because the Hornet's trans was going before I even met Randy.