The Good

Bad to the bone

Prologue

Winters in Canada were cold, very cold.  The night was   -20 degrees Celsius, and had a wind chill of 30 miles per hour. The bitter night was reflected through the yellow tinted windows of the two story red brick house in the middle of the suburbs, giving it a false appeal of comfort. 

There was only one person in that house at the time, and the only sound was the trickling of Frank Sinatra coming from the old brass record player tucked away in a corner. The sound was grainier than if it had been played from an electronic device, but it was better this way as it gave the piece more character and stayed true to the artist. 

She preferred it that way. 

 The soul occupant of the house was currently tapping away at her laptop on the marble counter, writing her latest article.  She loved to write, especially about other people. The weather was perfect for this occasion, what better time of the year to write a hard hitting expose than winter? The sharp, cold winds, the dreary, dark atmosphere, the over whelming dread and  sorrow that cloaked the working people of society in an unshakable sense of death and despair. She took a deep breath, releasing it slowly, and then another. 

It was perfect.

You make me feel so young  was next, and she hummed. She loved this particular song, and  liked to listen to it often. It was almost done, the article, only two more entry's and she'd be finished for the night.   Jack Keppert and Miranda Lou.

  As snow continued to fall softly to the ground and the moon illuminated the yard, she pressed send.  What a perfect night, what a perfect moment,  what  a perfect opportunity for change. She was fond of change, and as the last few notes trickled out of  the record player's large metal mouth and slowed to a stop, she waited for the reaction.

  As not everyone was as found of change as she, and would sure create a fuss. It could not be helped, how ever, and Jack Keppert made her feel Oh so young.