I woke up from another fruitless nap. Sleep had not been kind of late. In fact, life itself had served me up one mean left hook after another. I was hot, sweat dripped from my brow as I pulled myself out of my bed. What time was it? 3:00, 4:00? Did it even matter? I made my way to the sink and splashed some tap water on my face. The cold shock brought me back to reality. I looked at myself in the mirror, seeing a slender reflection that definitely needed some shaving cream and a razor.
I pulled open the blinds as I made my way into the front room. The Riviera definitely isn't the Ritz, but it's a place to call home and lay down my pillow. I looked outside at the thick steam rising from the streets sidewalks and streets, and stopped to wonder why thick fog was rising from the streets of Provo, UT. That's when I realized that my life had turned into a 1930s detective movie, and I started to reflect.
PICTURED: NOT PROVO, UTAH
After much hoopla, I had finally returned to the place of my birth. The place of my university. The place where this next chapter of my life will supposedly unfold.
I had returned to a rough world that I had previously forgotten, returned as an out of place wanderer just looking to make a few bucks, gain some sort of education and maybe meet someone special along the way. Things were peaches and cream at first, but didn't stay that swell for long. Books not about Mormon suddenly found emphasis in my life, and I found myself being crammed with information about teeth, graduate schools, start-up businesses, and Latin America. It was a lot to take in, like the first swallow of a strong scotch (or so I'm told).
New faces were met, characters from all walks of life. Good men out there to do the right thing, some out there to cause trouble, and others that aren't too sure just what they're here for. And of course, what would any case be without a new dame to come in and turn the whole world on it's feet.
I've been approached by many to solve some capers. Some I take, some I turn down. There are some things that a man just shouldn't get himself into, and I've learned that the hard way in this town. However I've found that the toughest nut to crack is that of the future; what's happening to us all soon, how to prepare, and how to avoid. This case had kept me up for more than a few nights.
And that brought me back to the present, starting out a window on a warm, Fall, Provo day, wondering what to make of it all. I thought back to a simpler, more peaceful time, when the most important thing on mine and my partner's minds were writing fluff pieces for our upstart news journal. "Whatever happened to that old rag anyway?" I wondered aloud, knowing full well that my own selfish neglect had probably driven everything we had worked for into the cold, hard, ground. I decided to give it a look. I put on my coat and walked down to the news stand. I asked the newsman if he still carried There's a Snake In My Newspaper" and to my shock, he did. Not only that, but he was somehow managing to sell a modest handful every day.
I walked back, puzzled as to how this had happened. People were still reading mine and my brother's paper even when our busy lives as hard-boiled 1930s detectives kept us from writing it in like before? That's when the mystery came clear to me. Life is complicated, and sometimes people will hit you square in the jaw. But you gotta be able to take that punch, and hit right back. Or...something.
"Honey I swear this made much more sense when I first had the idea."
Anyway, I've been lazy and have seriously neglected this blog after an entire summer of swell posts. I checked the stats, and somehow our viewership is healthier than ever. I vow on my honor as a 1930s detective to do better, because you people deserve better.
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