“The Blessing of a hometown Festival is that you know where the opium dens are. The Curse of a hometown Festival is that the opium dens know who you are.”
–Boris Devilboon, Letters from the Unholy Citadel
Friday Night Derailed
A simple plan.
Dress up nice. Drink the whiskey. Dance in the Fire. Disappear before Sunrise.
The rhythm was fucked from the start. Problems on a job site put me an hour behind schedule leaving work and traffic kept the freeways at a crawl. I could save time by abandoning the journey home to head straight to the venue, but without my supplies it would be a wasted trip. Reality was threatening my Friday Night at GP Detroit, and my blood was boiling with contempt as I forced my way onward.
I took a shower and shaved my head. I was already behind schedule, but I was not going to look like the savage bastard I intended to act like. I gathered the fresh batch of Green Mana Cookies™ I made the night prior and my binder of extra cards, mostly Oldschool stuff I have upgraded or the remnants of the last collection I inherited. On the other side of the Weekend a Bazaar of Baghdad would be waiting for me, but it would not be free and it would not come easy.