I was having too good a time at the 169 in Chinatown.
Work was light and I was falling deeper into debt.
I received a phone call from Alaska offering a jewelry job.
I accepted without thinking and flew four time zones west and north to the Land of The Midnight Sun.
I should have thought over the decision.
It seemed like a good idea at the time.
Instead I entered into a world of twelve hour days ruled by a shrewd woman my own age.
She knew everything about selling to cruise ship right wing neo-Nazi passengers.
I knew nothing.
My every mistake was punished by a lash of her tongue.
I was in the gulag of the Alaskan summer work force and the commissar was not pleased with my performance.
I wanted out, except Juneau was not connected to the outside world by a road.
Only cruise ships, ferries, and planes.
After work I longingly stared at departing planes.
No 'zeks' or convicts were allowed to leave Juneau.
At least I'm not drinking triple gin tonics at the 169.
Not that drinking there is a bad thing.
And it's bullshit that there is too much of a good thing.