In the breakfast room of the AmericInn in Sartell. We must be about the last guests in the motel on a Monday morning. The front desk person and two woman who do the rooms are sitting a table across from me. I just walked across the street to the gas station and bought a 20-oz. coffee for 85 cents, less than half of what I usually pay. My back is feeling better–after a half hour in the hot tub. I strained it playing golf yesterday with my brother-in-law and nephew. On the seventh hole. I had paid for 18, which my sister played in my stead in the afternoon.