It was a warm summer night. A southern wind blowing in through my open window scuttled the newspaper I'd been reading across the table.
I caught my reflection in the glass, as I took a small sip of strong black coffee. My reflection looked worn-out -- like he needed a holiday, like he needed a cold shower, like he needed a whole new life.
Disgusted, I put down my cup and stared at the phone. Suddenly, I started shivering. The sensation drawing around me like a dirty wet blanket.
It was a cold I knew too well.
I grabbed the phone and dialed.
"You sound tired."
Damn it, Starsky made me.
"You're paranoid," I told him.
"I'm wiped out." I had to come clean.
There was a long pause.
"Need some candy?"
Bingo! Starsky knows. I don't want him to know, but he does.
"That's ridiculous," I lied.
I shut my eyes, my hand holding the receiver was trembling hard.
"I'll probably be fat and toothless by the time this passes," I admitted.
"Probably -- be right there. Just hold tight, okay, partner?"
"Okay." I nodded and hung up the phone, feeling better already.