fire

As I write this the house is filled with that acrid smell of a dirty old fire. I arrived at the airport mid afternoon, but the way home was blocked by fire trucks just finishing off at what remained of the Palmour Tavern at the bottom of a short block from my house. This had been one of Shania Twain's venues before she got a little fussy. Mining towns are filled with taverns and sooner or later they all seem to burn.