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Miguel Rivera glanced in the mirror and thought he looked pretty damned good for his age. He didn't have the deep wrinkles of some of the seasoned officers and only had a touch of gray starting at the temples. Other than that, his wavy black hair was still full and thick. He smiled as he thought how he still wore the same size, while he buttoned his uniform shirt over his flat stomach, on his last day of walking his beat. The last day, he thought. It seemed like only yesterday when he set out on foot to patrol the city streets that first time, twenty-five years ago. It's a day he never forgot.

He loved his city during the hustle and bustle of the holidays, back then. It was a magical time when the department stores put on whimsical displays and people crowded the streets, their arms filled with packages. You could smell the chestnuts roasting at the carts on the corners and hear the shrill sound of bell-ringers cutting through the noise of the traffic, asking for money for their red kettles.

Miguel leaned against the street light that first day, just watching the crowds while he waited for his partner. It was a time for families and a time for everyone to be a child again. He wasn't that far removed from his own childhood being only twenty-one and a second-generation police officer. He smiled as two brothers chattered on about asking Santa for baseball bats and gloves, holding on to the hands of a man he assumed was their grandfather. He remembered how exciting it was to wait in line to see "the man", ride the monorail and walk through the ...

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