Lunch

I left my jacket in the car and walked in with my friends. It was a pleasant restaurant. It had that cheesy fake wood paneling along the walls, with various pieces of flair adorning the open spots. There was an extension cord sticking out of the side of the bar indicating that there was no intention by the owner to actually make any aspect of the place look professional. Good! I thought. That is how I want my steak sandwich. I want the focus put on that. Who cares if there is fake brick paneling not meeting up at the breaks? Who cares if the open sign has not lit up in half a century or that there was a plant hanging from a hook which was looking less and less hook like?

It was cold in there. I wished I had my jacket. I couldn't get up to get it since I did not drive and we were packed into our seats like the clothes in the dryers at the laundromat next door. We waited forever watching M gulp down his butterscotch milkshake, wishing we had gotten one too. But then the conflict of cold and the stomach problems.

The conversation ebbed and flowed. B had only smart-ass answers. L was not his usual start up the controversy self. Something must have been on his mind. Even M had less to say than usual. J was not impressed with his sandwich, longing for the replica from the Italian Place. Mc responded to the Real Salt Lake game conversation, or was that earlier in the day? And D. What did D say? Was he in character? I tried to draw out S with the stupidly sarcastic: "That's weird! S has been unusually quiet today."

By and by we left but not before seeing the Chargers/Steelers highlight over and over. A blown ref call did not hurt the Steelers, nor help the Chargers, but it did make Vegas a little happier.

The food was good. Well, not good. Just good. Mostly good. Call it good.