What I need to do is move with a Black Joe Lewis and the Honeybears in my pocket all the time. That’s a possible resolution after Friday night.
I put the disc in my jacket pocket as Meghan handed it to me atop the Metro Center escalator, with her headed in the other direction and us going to see the band a month later. Met Mike and Mark in the pub for our old combination of storytelling, venting and conspiring. Mike had to go back to work, so Mark and I junked our plans for the car show and got dinner at Acadiana. Steen’s cane syrup bourbon vinaigrette… the scallops and bacon pork loin were swimming, and I wanted a mainline.
Halfway through dinner, the bearded manager tapped me on the back — wait, the bearded manager was Dr. Love, he of the neighborhood, basketball and the Metro crew. He’d returned; I hadn’t known, and we traded man hugs. Generously, he sent over desserts, and along with the waitress recommending a port, I walked with Black Joe Lewis and the Honeybears in my pocket back to the train, frigid night, warm kid.