We ate at Talula’s, a local place owned by three-fingered Mary, who really has three fingers on one hand and a full five on the other, so by rights should be eight-fingered Mary. Jim complains every time we go there, but keeps suggesting we go there, as he likes to support local food. The jazz was just beginning as we left. I had risotto, hold the Parm, and Jim had the baked cod, or mostly baked cod, all but one piece. Mine was very good, and Jim’s was just right for him, as he was able to whine about it through the meal, which makes him content. The wine was good, I assume, as Jim ordered a second glass. We talked about the children and the children’s children. It was good.