CHAPTER 72
The Mayfa— hotel bar looks very much the same as it had the year before. The plastic Santa and reindeer collect dust on the bar. The white Christmas tree sports old bottle caps and corks. Lights are duct-taped to dirty windows. Even the bald, paunchy bartender appears to be wearing the same flannel shirt, reading the same People magazine.
Where did the year go?
Lary sits back, savoring her mouthful of greasy burger, cheese, pickles, and hot mustard.
“I’ve gained back almost every flabby ounce of fat.” Dudley stuffs a fry into a pool of malt vinegar.
“Me, too, but we can always start again in January.” She turns to look at him, wiping ketchup off his sweater. “I can’t believe you came all this way just for my presentation.” She chomps down on another bite. “And Simon, too,”
