The door was heavy and resisted pushing. There was a step down just inside, and after the bright sun outside it was hard to see. The floor was wooden and worn, and there were bundles of firewood stacked for sale just inside.
There was a long bar with a few people sitting at it. This was a bit of a surprise, since the place looked like a store to a non-attentive observer, although as for that the Hamm’s sign outside should have been a hint.
There was a second room to the left that lit by the afternoon sun reflected off the river. A sliver of it flickered down the bar of the otherwise dark room and lit the face of a woman serving a couple seated at the right end of the bar. She looked up and smiled as I walked toward her.
“Is it ok if I park in the lot for a few minutes and sit down by the water?” I asked.
“Sure.”
“Thanks,” I said. “I have a gray teardrop trailer. I didn’t want you to think I was setting up camp.”
She smiled again. “That’s fine. I saw you drive in.”
“Thanks,” I said again from the door and went down to the river.
