I stopped pulling my suitcase and fumbled for my phone. “Owens.”
“Hey buddy,” I replied to my childhood friend. “If it’s loud… well I’m in Vegas. On the Strip actually, walking to my hotel to check in.”
It was almost 80 degrees. Your income strategist was sweating through his shoes and pants and, more concerning, he’d forgotten his hat—which meant the top of his increasingly exposed head was being slowly but surely sizzled by the desert sun.