Inside a small condo, Cliff Roberts is at one with his laptop, sitting in a short sleeved shirt he sits hunched over squinting at the small screen. A glass fill with soda once cold drink now warm and watered down from melting ice, sits off to the side of the desk. A pair of tri-focaled glasses, sit on his forehead. He is a writer at work. Outside, in the hall, a man waits, wondering what to do with his hands as he paces back and forth as though he were a caged animal. Time is running out. Unruly fingers, that love typing like they love paper cuts, type methodically. Cliff Roberts has a manuscript to finish. This one is called "Fatal Mistake." It will be his first to be published. Cliff's wife, Donna, stands by in anticipation as the final few paragraphs are finished. When he clicks the last key, he smiles with satisfaction and says, "It done." "About time, he's waiting in the hall." His wife Donna tells him as she nods towards the front door. Cliff stands and walks briskly to the door, thumb drive clutched in his big meaty hand. With one swift movement finds himself outside in the hall. A brief conversation occurs and the man who had been waiting, hurries off with the thumb drive and all is well. The book has been delivered to the publisher. Cliff Roberts has been a pauper, a pirate, a poet and a police commissioner. His home is a tribute to his long career. The walls of his office are adorned with awards for salesmanship and pictures of long forgotten meetings. Plaques with favored quotes are staggered among the dozens of shelves filled with books. These momentos attest to his ever changing vocations, of the challenges met and overcome. He now faces a new challenge as if he hasn't already faced enough. He has lived enough for two lives and can now write of the journey. Of the bruising days. Of the ruby-red lips and bourbon times. Of stark, broken down days. Of forgotten ladies who ride in limousines. The stories that have been in his head for as long as he can remember, begging to be written. He writes of his days in old Detroit of forgotten political campaigns. He writes of the people and places he's known, how they've changed him and how he's changed them. He contemplates the day life's new challenge will finally be met and everyone, near and far will know his name. Life's October can be an attitude or an age or a wistful reality. For Cliff Roberts, it is a time for new achievement. A time to write a new chapter in an ever changing life.