The other day my friend Florida Pete took a break from pushing his shopping cart through the back alleys of Fairview to stroll down memory lane; relive past glories and bad hair days.
If he was thinking I’d be startled, then he had another think coming. One of the many things I’ve learned living on the street is to respect other people’s reality—at least to smile and nod.
Pete’s personal reality is actually more of a localized disturbance in the space-time fabric. I never mind. It helps break the monotony.
This time though, I wish Pete had showed up before I paid for my meal—you can’t beat those low, late 1960s-early 1970s menu prices.
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