April, and I was closing late on purpose.
That was the first difference. In January I'd closed early for a man who wanted me in Vail before the pass got dark, and I'd stacked the chairs fast and wiped the machine down fast and driven west into the worst weekend of my life. Tonight I was closing at ten because ten is when Treeline closes, because the last train crowd deserves somewhere warm to stand, and because nobody on this earth had a claim on my Friday.
I wiped down the maple and catalogued the room the way I've catalogued every room since I was old enough to notice what was missing from them.
