Christmas is less than two weeks away, and I haven't bought Cindi a present. Each time I ask what she wants, the answer's the same. "I have everything I want or need." "Gurnee," the conductor calls out. "Next stop, Gurneeee." I drop my newspaper on the seat, grab my coat and briefcase from the overhead rack and step off the train. Cindi's black Daytona is sitting in the parking lot covered
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