Tears for a dead foreskin


Steve Winwood // Blind Faith - "Can't Find My Way Home"


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I met a most excellent black man on my journey. I googled a place to eat and got off the interstate. Farther and farther from civilization I traveled, eventually coming to the bbq joint. Kinda small but the interior was crafted perfectly, bright silver corrugated metal panels and wood trimmed in red flashings and brown headed screws. Two women were working the counter and kitchen, one black lady and a native American. The food was a little pricey but totally awesome.

We chatted awhile and I told him I was returning from medical testing and he seemed genuinely concerned. I let him know I was thoroughly impressed with his food and building and he added that his wife had designed the restrooms. I could tell that my words meant a lot to him and that he was far beyond just selling a sandwich for a buck. I expect to see his restaurants popping up all over.

My world is typically so small, by choice. It is so refreshing to meet excellent people when I am forced out into it.
 
Your crow phone is 566666. You know they make a blackberry serrano one too? Please have a seat and we'll bring your food out to you.
 
If the Sun ever comes out I'm taking off my clothes and standing in the front yard.
 
That's what they do. They suck you in and then throw your heart into a wood chipper.
 
And the Langoliers come in to gobble up the remnants of page one.
 
Almost ran over a guy on a bicycle today. He was peddling down the street on the wrong side of the road dressed in camouflage. There must be a life lesson in there somewhere.
 
New strings...bout time.

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