Who's mindin the bar? Ah, Jon Freeman I see. You pull those pints like a pro, lad. Just carried MMario into the backroom and onto a cot (no mean feat if you've ever tried to pick the boy up) where he's now sawing logs. Never mix mead, ale, and Skol is the moral of that story I reckon. I'll have a small snifter of brandy before calling it a night, and buy a drink for those roving Mudcat Ambassadors, Allan C and Bill/Sables, two of the finest inhabitants of our town.

Quiet in the Old Tavern tonight, just the chirp of crickets and the babble of the mill stream outside the stone wall. The Friend still strumming that beat-up Silvertone at a table lit by a single candle, not playing anything in particular, just letting the chords roll their own melodies. Peace fills the alleyways of this town, and a quarter moon gives just enough light to guide some of the late-stayers home. Out beyond the brook, I can detect someone singing Barbry Allen, and I think how this town never built itself... it was the music built it. And how sharing that music makes us all stronger and better.

Yeah, it's a pretty good place.