It’s just warm enough. After a week of cloud and rain, I hesitate but opt for lunch on the patio. I’m not alone. A man and woman, old friends are discussing family, life and business. I’m not trying to listen but its hard not to pick things up. Wind across the parking lot is bending tall grass that’s gone wild along the fence.
My beer, veggie burger and fries arrive so I put aside the notebook. He would like to do business with her. They go back a long way. A possibility occurs and I pick the pencil back up. I’m working on a tagline for a campaign that has to be presented on Monday. It’s all coming together except those few simple words.
In a corner, neglected hosta are struggling through bark mulch and there’s a dwarf hedge close to death. It wasn’t like you and I, he says, ordering another beer. Their food arrives. You’re obviously very smart. Not really, she laughs. We’ve done alright.
I get caught up wondering about the difference between their words, bending grass and the sweep of clouds across the sun.
A couple of women arrive. One complains about the parking lot view. The conversation moves to her children. He’s ordered another beer and says something that startles me. Something about shining stars falling through the cracks. It sounds like a lyric or line of poetry. You were always so… he says as I’m leaving.