Time had stood still in Hutteger’s Family Restaurant out on Route 14 for years, same menu your grandma held, same jukebox your pa loved, same ashtrays your favorite uncle used to ash his unfiltered Marlboros. Customers came from all around, as far as two states away, to see it for themselves: a living time capsule. The proud owner, Mel Hutteger, went to get his ears lowered one day and passed away all of a sudden in the barber’s chair. Come to find out an out-of-towner swooped in and snapped up Hutteger’s. We held our breath, seeing if he’d understand. If he’d get the magic. Our town went on opening night, glad but worried. Same crew, same menus, same ashtrays. The town heaved a sigh of relief and sat down to Friday night fish-n-chips. That there was the last time any of us darkened Hutteger’s doorstep. The new owner had reckoned he might save a few pennies, or maybe he hadn’t wanted to wrangle with an ornery local merchant, but whatever had led him to his decision, the bastard had doomed Hutteger’s to bankruptcy in a month when he’d changed the recipe for the tartar sauce.