 I like things that look like they're in control, the reliability of harmony. This story, I'm about to unfold, took place back in 2020. And what a year that was. Even Gaspard Calhoun, down at El Paso, says he still ain't seen nothing like it. Mornens were something special, an old Rodrigo Asuna, the way the light played on the wooden floors, the smell of last night's supper still in the air. Chet, miles or even old bill till the neighbors complained, man, those were the times. We was happier than a pig in the sunshine, and we didn't have no idea. Anyway, Peter Beard died that day, 19 days missing when they found him at the bottom of a river. Papers said he suffered some sort of dementia, poor son of a bitch. Imagine, living all that just to forget it, wouldn't know what to make of it. Anyways, the family was what it was, Lisa on her phone, a whole boy could she talk. Hell, you'd ask her the time and she'd tell you how to build a damn watch. When he had old Gabe doing his thing in the kitchen, he'd make two different sauces, just because everyone would make such a fuss about one or the other. And then there was Double N, just doing plain nothing really, and Gabe Jr., that old Vito just lingering around the kitchen. Guess he was waiting for something that never came along, that old dog. But what a hell do I know. World turned out colder than expected, just wouldn't quit pouring. As far as I can remember, it rained, and it rained, and then it rained some more. The old HCUV pretty much sums it up, gray and wet. Well, that about does it for now. As Freddy Fatfangers over in Toledo used to say, that old Freddy Sr., not the son, Freddy, y'all be good, and don't go misbehaving. But if you do, don't forget to give me a call so I can come along.