Unsolved Mystery

I arrived at the Crab Shack in Henrietta (Hta?) at ten to six, nd parked next to a shiny red Chevy Spark.  This is worth mention, as my little car is evidently no big seller – I think that’s only the fifth Spark I’ve seen since I bought mine in February.

The pleasant girls at the reception desk had only one six o’clock reservation – for 18 persons, pharmaceutical company gathering, so I settled down on a couch near their desk and watched the passing scene.  Not a face I recognized.  Not a clue. 

At ten after six I ordered take-out clams, which came after ten more minutes, and I left at twenty after six.  (If I remember right, you had to give a full professor twenty minutes?)

Sixteen dollars brought one of the smallest orders of fried clams I’ve ever seen.  I’m not sure the chef could get a job in Maine, but maybe it’s just that things no longer taste the way I remember.  They were indeed whole clams, though, soft-bellied, with a whiff of the sea when you bit into them.  Wish I’d thought to take a picture when they arrived so you could share the whole experience, but I hadn’t had any supper and I’m afraid I drove home one-handed.