Whoever thought it was a good idea to celebrate the holidays in a cabin on a mountain is an idiot. I keep telling my parents that, and every other person who decided to attend too. Sure enough I'm joking most of the time, but there's a core of truth here: I really don't want to freeze my ass off during Christmas. And as it so happens, I'm going to.
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It all started a few weeks ago while I sat in a bar after a long day of searching through the want ads.
"How's it going?" said the clean headed muscle man who sat down next to me.
"Not the best," I said, looking up from the paper. "I've been slogging around town all morning, looking for a job."
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The day of The Dance finally came. Actually, come to think of it, it was not a dance at all! It was just a huge party that was held annually at one of the mansions in the neighborhood and everyone was invited to it. Nobody knows when the exact date of The Dance was. Hell, none of us knew who the organizers were because the mansion where The Dance was held had no records of any owners, dead or alive.
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