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The model for the bar where Kathy's failed to pick up her rich tourist in my story, Her Life. Chatham Squire. Ten minutes till midnight, Friday.
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T-minus 10 days until I am occupying one of those bar stools nursing a Sam Adams and crunching fried clams.
For now, though, back to the salt mine.
Posted by: Raindog | Monday, July 17, 2006 at 02:07 PM
Raindog,
Have one in my name, please. I'll have been gone for days by the time you get there. Otherwise, I'd join you.
Next year, though, we're staying longer, and the first round'll be on me.
Posted by: Lance | Saturday, July 22, 2006 at 07:53 PM