Food for thought.

Ok. So we are sitting in Keifer's eating lunch today, and I notice this older gentleman, in the corner of the restaurant, alone. He has no food in front of him. Rather he has a pitcher of beer and a stein. And slowly, he's working his way through the pitcher.

So we chat and eat our way through the lunch hour. As I'm spearing my last cottage fry on my fork, he gestures towards me and says, "Don't eat that tater." After a double-take, I ask why. He says, "You'll hate yourself." Not quite sure how to respond, I reply, "I like living on the edge." And then I stuff the fry in my mouth. He goes back to his beer.

About 10 minutes later, he rises to leave the restaurant. He stops next to me, saying, "Do you really like living on the edge? I got a pink slip today from a job I been working for 13 years. Now, I'm going to go find the meanest bar in Jackson and kick some ass. Do you want to come with me?"

Now, I cannot overemphasize how taken aback I was at this moment. An odd queasy-ness mixed with tinges of pity in my stomach. Holding out his hand to me, he says, "You said you liked living on the edge. Do you want to come with me?" I look at my dining companions, smile self-consciously, duck my head and say, "Not today."

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