Eight-ish o'clock, Sunday night.
The Mexican joint in the Old Market Passageway has just closed for the evening, and I am full of chips, cerveza and the No. 2 combination plate.
The swanky joint next door is closed on a slow night for dining out.
Omaha is sluggishly, reluctantly steeling itself for the end of the weekend and the start of another workweek. But it's even worse than that -- there's a city primary election Tuesday.
When did we come to dread elections? Sigh.
All is quiet on the downtown front.