He’s African American and very small, yet adorable. His voice is raspy. ‘Here,’ The bartender puts his Bloody Mary in front of him, almost as i... he had the drink prepared before the young man came up to the bar. ‘Thanks,’ The man slowly takes in his drink. ‘Don’t you think you had enough Darryl?’ Bartender asks. He shakes his head, ‘I can never get enough of these,’ He turns to me, ‘It’s my birthday today.’ ‘Oh, happy birthday,’ I exclaim. I should have known it was his birthday. Darryl is. The couple that owned the Treasure Coast stopped making cookies, drew down the shades and learned to subsist on just a few customers per week. Tilly’s owner, whoever he was, packed up and headed for the west coast, to Tampa, leaving his restaurant/tavern/eatery/banquet hall to fend for itself. Where the death of the packing house had come overnight, Tilly’s and the Treasure Coast lingered, waiting for time to finish the job that the frost had started.Now it was just a rambling old house with. More

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