The main lobby of Park City’s Prospector Lodge used to have a nice, homey, slightly-sagging-at-the-seams feeling. Like a friend’s oversized living room. Warm and familiar.

A year or two ago some jerkwad bought the place and removed all the atmosphere. Now it has all the charm of a seen-better-days bus station in Akron or Trenton. Incidentally: The head has a metal door that clangs shut like a prison cell — loudest I’ve ever heard.