After a 22-second, unknown-source-of-a-clicking-sound wait, I cautiously turned left onto East Union Street and slowly inched up the one-way, for-a-decade-or-so-decidely-desolate-with-seemingly-bleak-prospects-but-now-making-a-robust-comeback-with-trees-inset-into-curbside-bulb-outs, two-lane avenue in downtown Morganton (NC). I soon saw a vacant parking spot on the right. The small, silver, 16-year-old Honda Accord sedan was quickly parallel-parked. I waxed mock-self-congratulatory: Still have the knack from those rental-car-parking-on-lower-Nob-Hill [San Francisco] days. Well, sometimes. Maybe just got lucky. Always easy when there’s no pressure. [No vehicle was behind me when I shifted into R.] Once out on the sidewalk, the 59º Fahrenheit (15º Celsius), breezy, autumn (October 27, 2018), Saturday-afternoon-in-the-foothills air felt quite refreshing. The sky was littered with dark clouds. In a mere two minutes and forgotten change, I was entering Brown Mountain Bottleworks at 2:37.