We’d been out to the fish store, which is in a neighboring small town, down I-90, and as usual, when coming back from said place, we decided to stop at Scotty’s for lunch. Scotty’s was our regular pub when we lived in the Valley, and we’ve kept up familiarity with the place and the staff, one of those extra-home-on-a-weary-evening places you go out to eat at when you’ve had it and don’t want to cook dinner.

We hugged the bartender—hadn’t seen him in much of a year—and he said, “So glad you came in. This is our last day.”

Huh?

Well, actually today is, but his last day was yesterday. And we called OSG, who used to join us there, and told her; so all of us are going to go to the Valley for lunch today, have one last round of the best nachos in town if they can find the makings—we ran them out our wine yesterday: they were down to a glass. It was like that. SO we don’t know what there’ll be to eat, but we’ll go and find out, and help eat up the last of the food.

Tomorrow we diet.