him.
“People come here to feel judged by history,” I told him. “Not served vodka by a man named Chad.”
He laughed then.
He used to laugh with me.
We restored the ballroom instead. Deepened the wood. Repaired the gilded ceiling. Replaced the synthetic carpet with hand-knotted rugs. Commissioned a mural in the private dining room, pale blue and silver, showing continue reading …
