Gaylords

I'm sitting at Gaylords watching the rain fall. It's slow and silent, more like snow than anything else. They're playing the Rolling Stones and I'm remembering when I used to live two blocks from here. I'd come home from working at the Daily Republic, change my clothes and run to this cafe, where I'd write until they started mopping the floors and stacking chairs on tables. I was hungry for the written word, not journalism but fiction, memoir, poetry. I sit next to that girl in my mind. I tip her a grin and tell her she's got promise.