We are sorry, truly and with an overweening sorrow, but we’re closed.

The two aren’t opposing statements. We’re sorry and we’re closed would be just as correct. We’re sorry because we’re closed. We’re closed, and we’re sorry about it, but we’re closed just the same. The sorry cannot modify the closing of the thing. Nonetheless. Notwithstanding. For all that. The closing is as real, and as certain, as the sorry. We can offer you both, one in each hand, but the one comes with the other, as sure as brothers. We’re closed, but we’re sorry about it, if that offers you any comfort.

We don’t want to be closed, if that’s what you’re implying. You know what it’s been like, ever since.

Christ, are we sorry that we’re closed. It’s been a hell of a night out there. We’ve seen it, the things you had to do just to get through it. And we wish to hell you’d never had to do it. If we were open, there is no end to the things we would do to try to make it up to you. But – and please remember, we’re Christ-fucking sorry as hell about it – we’re closed. And there’s nothing to be done about it.

There are people in here too, you know. People we have to take care of. People who came under our door while we were Open. Would you have us abandon them?

Look, if – if in the morning, if you’re still here, and if we’re still here, we will be Open. And we will welcome you then. And there will be nothing sorry about it.

If I could, I would open like a flower, for you.

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