Sip from a Stranger

Somewhere off Willow St. in Long Beach, the shop smells of Naan & spices. Inside,there are three oscillating fans, rickety & loud. The glass case that encloses the tin trays of food is sweating. There's one customer listening to a pocket radio propped on the table. On the counter, sits a mini-figurine of Shiva & a small vase stuffed with toothpicks. I order a plate of food and ask for hot tea. The owner looks at me a bit puzzled, almost impressed. He points to a table(signal to sit) and disappears through the tapestry draped over the doorway. Five minutes later, he appears from the back of the shop, walks to where I am and sets down a steaming cup. He walks away before I have time to say thank you. I sip. It's perfect, pure, unlike anything. This man, once a stranger is now a friend, for he has shared with me a secret, a tradition, his routine. I turn in my seat and lift my cup in a salute of respect to the shop owner. He answers with a kind nod and disappears through the tapestry draped over the doorway. The best things in life are never on the menu. I will visit this magician again, somewhere off Willow St. in Long Beach. RW

Detroit Bar

Sometimes it just feels sweet to fly off the handle.

The Easy Burden

The hot talk is surrounding the idea of sustaining the earth and its resources. I tip my hat to that conversation and to the leaders of that pack. But.... my friends, let us not forget to sustain each other, to sustain relationships, to carry the weight of one another's trials, to sharpen & elevate the souls of those around us. For what good is a world full of abundant resources if the spirits of its residents are depleted? RW

Blue Money

We visited that local Irish Pub, Huntington Beach, Ca. She ordered a Guinness. The house band was too loud and we think they used a wind machine, blowing their hair back and drying their sweat. I twisted the rings on her fingers, occasionally kissing the top of her hand. One pint was enough at this joint. Out the door and on to the next scene. She opens the door for me from the passengers side. Just cause my handle's broke doesn't mean the engine don't go. It fire's up like the first roar of a baby lion. We screech out of the parking lot into Saturday night. A Merle Haggard tape struggles out the speakers, it sounds like his band is making popcorn. We pull into somewhere new. The door guy checks her I.D. and as I reach for mine he says, "Nah, you're good." The pool tables are upholstered with cheetah print and there's waterfall screen savers playing on the TV's. The bartender makes eye-contact with her boobs and looks at me like we've had beef for years. One pint was enough at this joint. Out the door and on to the next scene. We decide to return home. At least we have a sense of humor and we never judge anything for too long. What I really wanted that evening I finally received, cold Chardonnay & her blue money. RW