Death of a Dream
Mmm, yes, well, it's just another one of those sorts of grey, dank, uninspiring days. Don't get me wholly wrong - I like overcast weather, generally. However, I can't say that it enthuses me with rabid, overpowering joy and the like. Moreover, I've been overwhelmed with large quantities of disheartening news about dying relatives and declining fortunes and that sort of thing, and it gets to a chap after a while.
My unfortunate friend Marvin Hill, the Italian lawyer chappie, closed his restaurant - Mondo Diana's - yesterday evening. It had been open for a good two years, but had made nothing of money and really was far too classy for this dirty little town. What he needed was an assortment of regulars who never bothered to look at the right side of the menu - fresh crab, swordfish, mako shark, etc., don't come economically-priced. Whatever the case, he wandered over here in a sorrowful state, desiring in his typical Mediterranean fashion to drown his woes with all of us, accepting our offerings of shortbread and allowing us to guzzle his Terre del Grillo in thanks. But he had more that he wished to share. His restaurant was now sold, even unto to the artwork. And so he came bearing a box full of wine glasses, informing us that we needed new ones (which was certainly news to us). He also gave us three cases of various fresh fish. There is an iced bucket of scallops resting in the fridge beside two large silver containers - tuna steaks and swordfish reside therein. And just this morning he appeared again, thrusting large quantities of swordfish and crab into our freezer downstairs. Confound the man - we have dead fish coming out of our ears. But this time he had a special gift for me: my very own side of prosciutto. Sympathetic tears my cheeks bedewed.
Whatever the case, I shed a tear for him and his restaurant - seeing the death of a man's dream is a thing not calculated men to cheer. May he live one hundred years.
My unfortunate friend Marvin Hill, the Italian lawyer chappie, closed his restaurant - Mondo Diana's - yesterday evening. It had been open for a good two years, but had made nothing of money and really was far too classy for this dirty little town. What he needed was an assortment of regulars who never bothered to look at the right side of the menu - fresh crab, swordfish, mako shark, etc., don't come economically-priced. Whatever the case, he wandered over here in a sorrowful state, desiring in his typical Mediterranean fashion to drown his woes with all of us, accepting our offerings of shortbread and allowing us to guzzle his Terre del Grillo in thanks. But he had more that he wished to share. His restaurant was now sold, even unto to the artwork. And so he came bearing a box full of wine glasses, informing us that we needed new ones (which was certainly news to us). He also gave us three cases of various fresh fish. There is an iced bucket of scallops resting in the fridge beside two large silver containers - tuna steaks and swordfish reside therein. And just this morning he appeared again, thrusting large quantities of swordfish and crab into our freezer downstairs. Confound the man - we have dead fish coming out of our ears. But this time he had a special gift for me: my very own side of prosciutto. Sympathetic tears my cheeks bedewed.
Whatever the case, I shed a tear for him and his restaurant - seeing the death of a man's dream is a thing not calculated men to cheer. May he live one hundred years.