Reminiscing in a laid back setting. |
At first when I saw the malt my eyes glowed at Spinnaker’s Lunch Counter, down the road a fur piece from Pappy’s general store. I loved my malt, and I liked the decor of late fifty’s early sixty’s, jukebox playing Runaway, time for Bobby Socks and leather coats, cigarette packs in sleeves. A red Coca Cola clock on the wall and over cherry phosphates gushed tell all. Waitress wore a Stetson hat, sneakers white as we relaxed to mind ourselves despite the fact that we had miles to go ‘fore dark. Enjoying lunch as we were want, a spark midday to energize the daily drab routine so often rudely foists, to gab or idle wantonly and sip a drink, or spoon the chocolate and try to think of untold fortunes that may lie ahead. The placemat was a county map, in red a covered bridge so marked as we could see a snippet of this county’s history. (Hear the clang, a Spinnaker spatula turning burgers, eggs over easy, glad to soak in this respite from the world, laid back here, flannel shirts a silver stool, with elbow room and smiles like a hug since out among the rush ’tis cold and smug.) So when I spooned the last of viscous malt , hearkened jukebox Elvis Jailhouse Rock, all the fine nostalgia evoked this yearning of things timeless, eras so enduring. 31 Lines Writer’s Cramp Winner 7-24-19 |