That's my friend Steve getting his Costco membership last year. He
doesn't like getting his picture taken.
This morning, after a semi-glorious slumber, I awoke in the middle of
a dream where a really pretentious musician was showing me a chord
on the guitar I'd never seen before. The fretboard on this guitar was
also about a foot wider than a regular fretboard, and the chord
required serious spider-hand stretching. As I was pressing my fingers
down in frustration, I had that moment of realization where I knew it
was a dream - and I knew I had slept too long. I woke up and saw that
it was, in fact, 6:59 am (my alarm was set for 6 am but I must have
dismantled it in my dream).
After a quick shower and dress, I got a text at 7:30 am (a rare
occurrence if you knew the sleeping habits of my friends). It was
Steve saying 'Guy. Breakfast at that little place near your dad's office.
I'm buying.' The thought seemed to fit perfectly into my day and my
desire to eat a greasy load of eggs, hash and tubular meat. The Prince
of Wales Restaurant is a haunt I've frequented over many a tax season.
It is the penultimate 'old school' diner. Paper 'welcome' placemats.
Crusty salt and pepper shakers. Wood veneer tables. A cathode-ray
TV ceiling mounted. Servers all over the age of 50.
Steve is one of my oldest friends and it was nice to get a chance to
spend some one on one time with him, over the shoveling of a cheap
and tasty breakfast at the POW. Sometimes, a meeting with an old
friend, in a way that you don't expect, can give you a new perspective
on a rainy spring morn.
