Where this ugly bar now stands there used to be a little restaurant called The Finch. It had a blue awning and a plate glass window, and it was the first restaurant at which we dined as a family when my mother and father visited me in the city. It was an upscale American bistro; I remember thinking even at the time there weren’t enough customers dining there to keep it afloat. Now I’m sad when I walk past the establishment that has taken its place because I remember the meal with my parents being uncommonly serene, a rare moment of unison and harmony. I can still see the table at which we sat, in the corner on the left, where we ate and talked quietly.