Granted, I was 20 minutes late for said appointment with SSM. I order a drink and leave a message with him, “Hey man… I’m here. Where are you?”

I order myself a drink. The place is filling up. Mind you, its only 6:50 PM but word had spread like a virus and everyone who were regulars or wanted to be seen were pouring in and being poured at the bar.

7:15: The cell rings as I’m conversing with a sweet but forgetful older lady at the next table. (I remember her asking the same 2 questions 4 times within the span of 10 minutes.) Anyway, it’s SSM… drunk off his patootie on the other end. “Hey… I must have just missed you… I was there… they ran out of beer…had 3 Stockholms… I’m home… What? … Nah, I better stay home… come over…”

Yeah. Whatever. Called Airplanejayne and invited her to join me. Ordered dinner (rack of lamb)… mmmm. Chatted with the regulars. A TV crew shows up to report on the proceedings. It was all sort of like a funky wake. Some bleary eyed. Others misty eyed. Most just plain drunk… and getting drunker by the pour.

Airplanejayne arrives. We spend the rest of the time chatting… and observing the shenannigans as the evening wears on. At 11 we decide that its time to leave.

Walking away into the night I pondered what really made the Planet what it was. The cool Art Deco design? The whiff of swank? The fixed price menu? All said and done… it was the unique fellowship that we found there on any given night. Any place, nomatter how hep or swank, is nothing without the fellowship. That I will miss.

last shot of an open door at the Daily Planet