Robert stood before the mirror in his seersucker blues and leather blacks. He admired his parted hair and kempt eyebrows with his usual narcissism. Where have all the cowboys gone, he joked to himself under his breath. The time spent in the Ivy League had transformed him from the son of a Southwestern rancher in to a sophisticated man of the educated elite. He walked over to the balcony of his 2nd story flat and looked down at the river below. The afternoon had been cool and crisp, with the night quickly approaching. The river moved with quiet grace, rippling with small pools in different pockets of the stream. It reminded him of days past on his father’s land, fly-fishing the North Fork of the White River. He used to wade in to the shallows and work the cast to and fro, East to West. A different time, he thought. The moment was gone. He lit a cigarette and checked his Cartier for the time. He needed to be out the door soon. There weren’t going to be many more nights like the one ahead. Graduation was to be within the month, and his internship in Massachusetts was to begin the following week. He trotted down the steps and out the front door of the flat on to Rosemary Avenue, where the street lamps were beginning to flicker with life. He had grown accustomed to making the walk several blocks north during the early evening hours, conjuring up his first jokes for when he would make his various entrances on nights like these. As he turned the corner, he could hear the laughter coming from the house. He strode in to the front door and was handed a garnished brandy, along with a cigar. He loved this feeling. The night ahead, a drink in hand, camaraderie all around.
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