Butch and I met downtown to talk about old times and poke around the neighborhood. The branches of the remaining trees hung farther down, making the houses seem smaller.
We headed for the diner, which they’d moved two blocks behind the old post office where, as a boy, I’d stared at its WWI mural and wanted posters exhibiting desperadoes’ misdeeds and photos.
Butch ordered eggs over easy; scrambled for me. I watched him eat, banging his fork on the plate. His gray hair hung in his face. I blurted out, “You look like your father!”
“I’ll buy that,” he replied.
We headed for the diner, which they’d moved two blocks behind the old post office where, as a boy, I’d stared at its WWI mural and wanted posters exhibiting desperadoes’ misdeeds and photos.
Butch ordered eggs over easy; scrambled for me. I watched him eat, banging his fork on the plate. His gray hair hung in his face. I blurted out, “You look like your father!”
“I’ll buy that,” he replied.
