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It was finally time for a splash of good bourbon in the green plastic coffee cup that lives in the camping box, along with the frying pan, dishes, and coffee pot. I settled into the lawn chair, took a sip from my cup, and then looked around my corner of the campground. The lake was visible through the trees to the south. An open forest of Ponderosa pines provided the overhead, and a carpet of needles softened any step across the earth. That short shower had left the place smelling of pine. My campfire crackled next to my left elbow lending some welcome warmth on what was proving an unseasonably chilly October Saturday afternoon.

I put up the dome tent when I arrived, for the weather threatened. The squirrel had been chattering at me since I parked the truck in his campsite. From time to time he lobed a pine cone in my general direction. How rude! But it was my home for the next couple of days, squirrel notwithstanding.

I'd been doing the tour, meager that it was, of the topless joints between California and Rapid City on the way out. The pasty club in Wendover was disappointing as usual. The club in Rock Springs was better. That's a boom town now, and attracts better looking women. I'm just a harmless old codger, so I sat quietly and enjoyed the parade of surgically enhanced breasts. The club in Rapid City surprised me, for several of the girls, who looked young and well fed and frankly a bit innocent, offered more services than one might think available in such ...

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