The Biltmore, Providence, Rhode Island (taken from the standing ashtray outside the front doors)

If you asked him, my father in law Stanley Rotman would tell you he came back from WWII relatively unscathed. His war stories would most likely involve women and seemingly trivial events. But I always thought the following story spoke volumes;

After the war, when Stanley was finally going to be back in Providence, safe and sound, he decided to give his family the wrong day for his arrival, making it one day later. He said he just wanted to go to the Biltmore Hotel in Providence, to sit anonymous and alone in that beautiful old hotel, smoke a cigarette, drink a cold martini and not speak to anyone for the whole evening.