emulating his friend’s writing success would likely never happen. Even if he could get a book done, he only wanted to write about life before the Banoff and, for various reasons, those books never sold. “Before you disappear back there, I’ve got some news,” Runit said as they stood in the antique lobby of paneled wood. The base of the grand double-staircase of white and gray marble next to them led to the upper floors. “No,” Nelson moaned as he raised an eyebrow. “They’re closing you down?” “Yeah,” Runit answered, not surprised at Nelson’s guess. The
