The longer this week went on, the more the trio above annoyed me.

I don’t know about you, but I kept expecting something to happen.

Nothing happened on Thursday of consequence, except for a walk around downtown so brisk my watch tapped me gently and asked if I was doing an outdoor walk. Why yes. I was. Do you want me to record it? If it will give you a sense of purpose, okay. Oh boy oh boy! Okay I will record. You go!

Later: are you still walking?

Yes, can’t you tell? Are you telling me you noticed I slowed down, and you’re being snide? Have you gone from servile and helpful to sarcastic in ten blocks? YES I am still walking.

Me, an hour later: better tell my watch I’m not walking any more.

What else? Oh, went to the bank. I like to go to the bank. But you can deposit on your phone! Yes you can. But I can’t find the setting that turns the check into cash.

What, cash?

Yes. I don’t use it, but I like to have it. If the grid goes down it will be useful for a few weeks until it becomes obvious it’s not coming back up, and then there will be barter; that’s why I set aside some airplane mini bottles of liquor. Each should be worth more after the package store is completely looted. I suppose I will feel bad trading them for food with a guy who cracks the top and downs it in one gulp, but we have to tend to our own needs first, and besides, he’s the arrogant one who never came to the neighborhood block parties, never waved, had a little yippy dog everyone tried to like, but it had a small petulant face with black empty eyes. In the end he redeemed himself with an act of self-sacrifice that saved the community and bought us another hard winter. Spring would come, but we knew not what it would bring.

Sorry. I was listening to a bad podcast drama series called “Blackout,” which is about a smahl New HAMP-SHAH town after some alt-right Luddites crash the grid, or so I gather. It has Mr. Freddy Robot as one of the characters, and he mopes his way through the whole thing in a weary creaky voice. In six episodes the town turned into a totalitarian state, I guess. Bailed after seven eps, sighed, went back to the good true-crime series “Criminal” and waited for the next “Reply All.”

By the way, is there a new one this week?

Okay, thanks.

Anyway, at the bank I made the clerk laugh, which is another reason I go to the bank. I said of course I could do this online, but I come here for the Dum-Dum Suckers - hey, where are the suckers?

Three tellers exchange glances: oh crap someone noticed! We're out, she said. They're on order.

On order? They're not rare Argentine jungle berries, they're Dum-Dums. You can buy a bag of a thousand at Cosco.

She brings out a bowl that has one (1) Dum-Dum.

"There's one," she said. "We put it away because it looks so pathetic."

"I can't take the last one! This is Minnesota! We never take the last one!"

"That's what everyone says!"

"What flavor is it?"

Without looking, she says: "Cream Soda."

"Revoke my citizenship," I said, and took it. "Watch out, we got a sociopath here."

I had to. Thursday is for going to the bank and getting a sucker and walking around quickly while listening to uptempo electronic music. By those standards, it was an excellent day, and

The building on the right topped off a while ago, and the walls haven't gone up yet. Any day now. On the right, a surprising amount of wood. If it's going to be residential, you'll be able to hear people in the next room blink.

A few weeks ago I showed you the completed restored exterior of the Andrus. It's been connected to the skyway system - HURRAH, SKYWAYS - and now you can look out for the first time in decades.

This parking lot has been vacant since the 80s. The Nicollet Hotel once stood here. This was the gateway to the city, and apparently they’re intent on making it so again.

Why, you - you you!

Lory looks hawt as a brunette, I think. Oh wait that's not Lori.

Solution is here.

By now you should be quite familiar with these openings, and feel a certain heaviness. How much of a song will I hear? Name it!

		Casey chord, trite name, custom stinger, lame setup

		Well, that's a lot of noir romance.

		Back at the Blue Note, Ethelbert is talking . . . to WHO?

2019 returns to the bins, and the records dumped back into the world when someone dies and the kids give the contents of Mom and Dad's entertainment system to the Goodwill.

When I was a kid I associated that beard style with deviltry. Untrustworthy men wore beards like that.

		An interesting arrangement.

		1943! You need a drink. Everyone needs a drink.

That'll do - see you Monday!