A Late Sunday in The Bywater 

There was this restaurant which hadn’t been on my radar as a destination, but the one we’d meant to go to told us on the phone Our last seating is at 8:45 on Sunday, and it was 8:35 already, so.

So we opted for this New American place also in the Bywater. Trendy. When we arrived it was Well, no reservation, give me a few minutes, trust me and after 15 minutes of being ignored by the bar and searching our phones for alternatives, he gave us a table that had been empty in plain sight since we walked in. It’s like they want to make you sweat and make the reservation-rule-abiders feel good and special.

Anyway we had a pretty smashing meal and a nice Alsatian blend and got friendly with our server, who turned out to be a recent-ish transplant, a singer, in love with the city, on that arc, that high note where you’re meeting people and making things happen. We talked with her at length after meal service had finished and she told us about a bar farther out that she liked, so we decided Fuck it let’s go.

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Day twenty-four: The mystery had only just begun

ink drawing of a pile of ephemera and a key

Day twenty-four: When at last she’d completed ministrations to her old-new house in such ways that compelled her, she returned to the leathery old box— a delicious reward. Retrieved from its out-of-the-way place of safe-keeping (much to Cat’s chagrin), she opened it. It contained the following:

+ One journal; worn but not ruined
+ One sheaf of very old photographs (same)
+ One packet of post-cards, written long ago (in surprisingly decent nick)
and
+ One iron key, threaded on a threadbare plaited tassel

The mystery had only just begun.

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