Fall stormed on there, he thought, knowing he wouldn’t see it: Swirling leaves, fireside ales, turtlenecks. Cider in Santa Fe, not the same.
Not as sad as some of the stories here, but still atmospheric. It raises some interesting questions. Why can’t he get fireside ales in Santa Fe? What is he missing by not being there? Where does he really want to be? I like stories with unanswered questions.