*Disclaimer – Mostly sort of true. It all started when Kyle mailed me a martini shaker. He said it was for my birthday, which is in December, and the shaker arrived mid-February. But it was a brand new martini shaker …

Something’s happening at the fountain - cyclists, hundreds, riding in circles, whooping out nonsense, cracking cold Rock Stars, wailing on kazoos. Tall bikes, long bikes, loud bikes, bright bikes, all zipping around in an absurd whirlwind, blasting Michael Jackson, howling …

It’s half past two in the morning at the Mission Hills Santana’s. A line of starving drunks talk loudly about their karaoke conquests at Lamplighter. Dapper locals mill around the salsa bar, texting. Sulky debutantes bitch about too much sour …

It had just occurred to Jim that I might be a cop. An undercover. That or some punk, some city brat with lousy friends and a downright stupid concept of a really great Saturday night. Either way I was a …