The leather chair squeaks beneath me as I readjust, angling myself away from the fireplace. The wife put on one too many logs and now the damn inferno threatens to scorch my feet. She said she'd be back in a moment. Seems like hours ago now.

I close my eyes and savor the smell of pipe smoke in my nostrils and scotch on my lips. Rain patters on the window pain and I spare a moment of pity for the poor wretches who live on the streets. I stretch my legs and yawn, pleasantly tired from a long night of reading. Fine works of art hang over the hearth: a crafty fox eluding cluess hounds;a lady being bathed by her servants; some haloed saint entreating with peasants. All beautiful in their own ways.

The leather-bound tome resting on my stomach weighs a ton. I perch my reading spectacles on the tip of my nose. Gamble Escapes Riker's Island reads the title page, and within moments I forget my weary eyes and am once again pulled into the fantastic past of heroes, villains, and intrigue.

I read until the fire burns down to embers, my chin resting on my chest. I konw I should go upstairs to bed but I can't convince my legs to move. I can't imagine anyplace more snug and comfortable. For a moment I fear that I will grow cold in the night, but I trust the loving wife to cover me with wool blanket her mother gifted us on our wedding day. If only she were here now as I drift off to sleep...