It is a mere accident of fate that brings Ebbie to the door.   Thoroughly lost she has been following the aroma of good whisk(e)y for a good two miles.

Not until she pushes open the dragging door does she recognize the ol' tavern. Notwithstanding the long streamers of frothy spider webs hanging from the walls and ceiling and the puffy depths of dust on the bar, it is unmistakably the once-beloved haunt. Can it really have been that long? she wonders?