Freedom's just another word for nothing left to lose

A few of my earliest memories are from 4th of July celebrations, pre-11/9. Neither of my parents were born American, like so many others, but equally proud and grateful. They had both escaped
their respective backgrounds and found a sanctuary by the sea where the seasons never changed.

They met in New York but lived their lives in Los Angeles, as did I before Henry and everything else that happened a few years back. I followed him to Europe more than a year ago, images are slowly starting to fade like they always do with time.

We spend the weekend in Monte Carlo, in and around the casino. Him in his tailored tuxedo from Zegna, me in my most extravagant velvet and the jewels he got me for my birthday. He's surprisingly gracious in defeat, probably because he can afford it. We don't talk about money but something tells me it came from his father. Part of me wants to know more.