Dad, looking for supplemental income?

Chase and I sipped Flor de Caña (Cuatro años, de Oro) with soda water for a few hours at the hotel, gaps in our conversation filled with moans and yelps from the five rooms recently occupied by couples without luggage (see post below), before we walked to Estelí's Casino Las Vegas. We found a table and enjoyed a Toña, then Chase disappeared behind the door labeled baños. He came back from the bathroom and said there was a long line of beautiful Nicas waiting for their bathroom.

For some reason I was suddenly reminded of the time(s) some years ago I convinced the gullible and ripe to be disgusted that my family was filty rich, thanks to my dad's pioneering use of advancing technology. My dad, the Toiletcam mogul, broadcasting unsuspecting privates through cyberspace from heavily trafficked public restrooms he had infiltrated worldwide.

(To be clear, my dad -- while quite internet savvy and posted in front of a monitor more than most -- would never condone such activities or invasions of privacy, and is in all interpretations an honest, upstanding, moral and ethical citizen. His son, on the other hand, lives in that gray area.)