Wednesday. March 20, 2013.
Stopped at a red light on the road south of here. Over on our right: Gus’ Restaurant. Blocky building of dingy red brick. Weathered, free-standing sign, leaning on its posts. No curtains, no signs, no decorations in either of the two plate-glass windows that look in blankly on what appears to be a mostly empty dining room. No tables that we could see, no customers at dinner. No waiters or waitresses bustling about. Spot only a single person inside. Tall silhouette standing against the bar, holding a pool cue by his side.
"I don’t think Gus is truly making the effort,” I observe to the blonde.
“No?”
“No. Running a restaurant doesn’t seem to be something he’s put his heart into.”
She suggests Gus should change the name of his establishment to better reflect what it is.
“Gus’ Joint.”
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