Every day, J.C. Dunn comes home to his wonderful house on Bryant Street. He used to love the place, now he fears it. Every night it smells of spaghetti sauce and fresh garlic bread.
He lives by himself and never cooks anything like that. But the smell, every day, persists, like a swarm of insects invading his home.
Dean Wesley Smith wrote this story in honor of his departed good friend Kip. When Dean started off writing, he worked for Kip in his spaghetti restaurant. A magical place.
Later on, until he died, Kip hosted writer workshops that Dean taught in his remodeled hotel. Dean still misses him.