Dorian usually had mixed feelings about returning to New Jersey for the holidays. It often brought up less-than-pleasant childhood memories, but he always missed the smell of the ocean from Philadelphia. Right now, he was just wishing he'd borrowed someone else's car. Cass, his partner on the police force, had allowed him to use hers over the Christmas holiday. He supposed it had been very nice of her, seeing as there was no way he could ride his bike- the battered old Triumph would never make it through the snow. But the cabin of the car was so full of fumes he had to roll down the window, and the radio was stuck on a station that was now playing a screeching version of The Twelve Days of Christmas, and he was beginning to wonder if she was either in denial about her car or this was her roundabout way of saying she didn't like him. He always grumbled about the yearly pilgrimage to Asbury Park, but Aunt Mel didn't have anyone else to visit her besides him. And she had raised him, for several years. So, he pontificated- he would use a word like 'pontificated'- it was worth the trouble. But she'd better damn well appreciate it.
We're all in the gutter, but some of us look at the stars. ~Oscar Wilde.
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