CHAPTER TWENTYAfter the closing, I stopped at Tino’s for what passed as an Italian hoagie—bologna, ham, and provolone cheese on a spongy white sub roll—and a cup of coffee as smooth as scorched turpentine. As I savored my meal, I glanced through the CASD file, which I’d grabbed on my way out the door that morning. Because Linda had been concerned about the wetlands, this seemed like a good opportunity to review the official files and make sure I had all the correct information. Since I was in the neighborhood, a quick trip to the zoning office in Upper Marlboro seemed to be in order.
Instead of the courthouse, I hit the county admin building, or the CAB as it’s generally known. This white rectangular block of post-nuclear architecture, notable for its complete lack of charm or warmth, sto
