I’m in Starbucks obsessing over some concerns I have.
I know enough, when I’m in this place, to compose an immediate gratitude list to bail myself out of my ceremonial self-pity.
Before I could whip out my notebook, a woman comes in I happen to know. She’s 50, if that…tall, stately, with long white hair like a thoroughbred palomino.
I sigh, running my hand through my choppy Bowery Boy cut, when she turns around and I see her ass is the size of Cleveland, one BIG problem I don’t have.
Did I give her a smile.
That God…gotta love’em when he’s trying to make a point, the little rascal.