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Blues I Alone, bringing food to my mouth, crackers and cheese, a drink. The voices are those of fishermen carried across the lake and a loon's strangled aria. Last night this table held lucky thirteen. We ate chicken rubbed with five spices, fried bananas after homemade pizza and still cleaned our plates of strawberry tart. Howard told the tale of their cat lost at Dulles Airport and, miraculously, found there. The wine flowed as it always has here and the cold coming on we wrapped ourselves in sweaters and drank some more. Tonight, it's the empty house blues, early to bed like dogs played out at my feet blue hour before dark.