Eddie was in trouble. He had left the house Thursday evening, ostensibly to pick up a quart of milk. Instead, he had gone on a three-day bender, catching a flight to Vegas and packing in enough gambling, drinking, and hell-raising to weary a regiment.
His immediate problem was how to explain things to his wife. Madge’s reaction would be extremely unpleasant unless he could come up with something convincing.
He stopped in the backyard to pluck a ripe falsehood, grabbing a handful of lies, inventions, fibs, and a cock-and-bull story for insurance.
Thank God for my Fabrication Garden, thought Eddie.