We gathered in the stark empty bar with the ghosts of bearded colonists. It poured steadily outside. Not to paint this as a grim tale, because it wasn’t, it was very bohemian, actually. Very reflective.
It was myself, Ian, a creative director and a guy who lives in Houston Texas who is here on holiday. He struck me as a wildebeest that had strayed away from its herd and had been left behind. It was Sunday night and the Stanley Hotel was as silent as a tomb. At 10pm, the Exchange Bar was an hour away from closing. Houston was having a beer and was greatly fascinated with what I was drinking, Fernet-branca. He’d never heard of it.
