I made my way down Pacific Avenue, one of Virginia Beach’s main drags, and arrived at the Beach Spa Bed & Breakfast, where owner Danny Santos (1) me that I would be the only guest that evening. The converted 1937 beach (2) had just emptied out after a busy(3) , and Santo’s wife, Debble, told me the next morning that she didn’t (4) the lull.After a (5) amount of time flopped on my bed, I railed for dinner at Ammos, a Greek restaurant. The dinning room was just as quiet as the rest of the resort area, not totally (6) since it was the Monday after Thanksgiving. Given my choice of tables, I settled into one in front of the windows with a(n)(7) view. Cars slowly rolled on the board walk,(8) the inky darkness and past the city’s annual holiday light(9) . And once I’d polished my gyro, it was my turn to take in the full extent of the festive 32-block extravaganza.Or at least it would be eventually, I spent a way too much time confused by signage to display’s(10) , but my grumpiness dissipated when I saw heartily people cheerfully waving me on with wands even as rain fell harder.