They’ve shut down the Bullfinch. We don’t know why. Or for how long. Every scenester in the state has peered through the windows by now, and noticed that nothing has been moved or taken away inside. It’s just, you know, not open.

Yet it’s there. So there. So very there. The Bullfinch is part of the social consciousness. Even if you don’t appear to partake of its services– the bands, the cocktails, the pinball– you’re in its debt. It adds an ineffable f-ing thing to the community.

They say that there used to be rowdy rock club, a ballroom they called it, on Cheese Street, the old factory district. It’s now a lawyers’ office. You’d never know it was once a club.

We’re just musing. The Bullfinch will be back. Won’t it? Its just that it’s been two days and everyone we’ve called either isn’t home or just doesn’t know.

At Hamilton’s (sob): two tribute bands and a horse… At D’ollaire’s (double sob): an evening with Even Steven…