Even in the glow of neon lights, I could tell he was a funeral director.

His dapper suit, slick hair, a mannerly tone, was in deep contrast to the lushes who

frequented Mandis pub every Friday night.

When he slid into the booth beside me, there was an air of superiority to him.

I didn't mind, of course, as I was on my fourth old-fashioned and the numbers he told me the day before

tumble through my head like shoes in a dryer. 10,000. 10,000.000,000,000.

Cash is good, I thought.

Cash means alimony free.

It was enough to finish my year's rent, enough to feed me until next Christmas,

enough to replace my closet of old rags and stained jeans with something fashionable

enough to attract a lady.

Enough for a decent use truck that wouldn't wind a life like the one parked out back of Mandy's parking lot.

However, I didn't think of any of these expenditures when the funeral director told him the payment would be in cash.

Instead, I thought of my 17 year old daughter, Ali.

I could gift her the $10,000 by paying for a tuition interstate. Maybe the act would change her mind about not it in in college.

She would go if it were cheaper, I told myself.

Ali was prudent about finance and had saved up every penny of birthday and Christmas

money she had received throughout life.

I'd seen the lot of cash tucked in the jewelry box and was proud.

That's why I envisioned a CPA license in a future.

She could do something great with her life, unlike her old man, and

unlike that cow mother of hers. A mere 20 minute drive could change my life, I thought.

...