Max, week 5?

The picture above is the start of an abstract story board to help me navigate through this tale about 4 days in Omaha, Nebraska in the mid-'80's...capturing the precise moment when the city peaked, as well as the individual triumphs and perils of the characters within. I haven't written anything about the scene above, but it is a gutted apartment in downtown Omaha across the street from a Cuban liquor store, that may or may not double as an after hours disco. There is a naked figure on a table who will most likely be a relative of the main character...with probably zero likeable, useful attributes. The working title of the story is, "The Bob Hope of Omaha."
Here's the general start:

"Between September 17th, 1984 and September 20th, 1984, Omaha, Nebraska rose from anchored flatland and claimed a long awaited piece of sky."

If you dig away the dead flowers and part the grass you can see those words thinly etched into the base of Omaha's headstone, marked with a small asterisk, separate from its widely copied epitaph, "Omaha: The left nut of American cities. 1854 to ?"
Rarely are question marks carved into headstones but in a favorable 6 to 3 ruling, chaired on by council-woman Claudia Astaire, grand-niece to the graceful Fred, the question mark passed. Then the grass grew. The flowers died. And Omaha sauntered forth, leaning favorably to it's left.

It was something of an extended weekend, albeit a Monday through Thursday, but pivotal in that regard since rarely is a city's legend born from mid-week activity. There is a heightened renown attached to mid-week heroics, operating inside the cuff, while calmly dismissing the silver crutch offered by the weekend, and instead, staking claim to history in the open air of a raw Tuesday afternoon.

Which is what I did. And was quick to learn that my success, failures, and antics inbetween during those four days were linked arm and arm with Omaha's. A shadowed breath. Much like what would be seen years later in Lewiston, Maine, where a young Joey Gamache would conduct a symphony of fists from the late '80's to early '90's on his way to becoming the champ while the city of Lewiston could be seen bobbing and weaving right behind him. I didn't have a couple of years to savor the moment. Just four days. Which feels like a minute when you look back on it tweny years later. Ask Joey.

Monday was a travel day. The premier of the Cosby show was still 3 nights off. Too soon to even think about, let alone mention.