Twenty-Nine
Something Rotten
Downtown, the zigzagging light strings brighten the street and sidewalks busy with people. A handful of new residents are having drinks at the patio tables outside the Wandering Salamander; even more are inside Tommy’s diner, which, at night, looks like something out of the 1950s with the LED neon and bright, throwback décor. The Tipping Point is still open for business, and when we park in front of town hall, I’m surprised to see the interior lights on in there as well.
“Did we miss something tonight?”
“Don’t think so. It’s busy,” Finan says.
“That’s good, right?”
“Better than having everyone at home puking their guts out and threatening to sue.” Finan climbs out but tells Humboldt to stay—he smells musty from his beach adventures.
“I can probably get t
