“As I opened then closed the front door a great set of bells hanging from the inside door knob jangled. They didn’t ring. They didn’t jingle. They jangled. It was a distinctive sound, one that remains with me despite time, distance, and age.
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There were three dining rooms. The smallest there by the door, another long and narrow one adjacent to it, and the main dining room. I passed them all and found an older woman sitting at the counter on a stool next to the cash register smoking a cigarette. Next to her on the counter was a pack of Winston and a black ashtray full of cigarette ashes and butts.
“Hello there,” she said. “How can I help you.””
