January 22, 2021:
The bartenders were Byron and Dante. Two elderly gentlemen with sparse bald heads, thin, similar heights. They could have been brothers, but they'd never met before working different shifts at the Sea Lodge.
I had a friend there, a nice girl who worked desk.
It was a period of recovery following my first experience of major depression. I was home for summers, borrowing the car, going out, being gregarious. Exceptionally gregarious — throwing myself into Life — as if unconsciously making up for the dreadful period of isolation and despair the two or three years previous.
I loved that bar. Loved the hotel, loved the beach, loved the summer and the warmth and the sunset.
There was a time in my life when I fantasized about living in that hotel, Howard Hughs style, to be there at the beach and the bar.
I dunno. Nowadays that all seems terribly unlikely.