October 1988

Indian summer in Boston and I'm still in the military. I’m hungover, dehydrated and grateful for the little dignities life has to offer. A clean, quiet, Greek diner that serves breakfast all day.

It had been a long and unremarkable night and I needed food, water, aspirin and cool place to sit for awhile. The diner was empty except for the owner who looked me over as I sat in one of the booths. I ordered two poached eggs, rye toast, iced coffee and large glass of ice water. The owner said he didn’t have any aspirin, he may have been lying.

When your tight and hungry, you can eat in the greasiest of spoons, but when your hungover neatness counts. I went into the men’s room and washed my hands and face. For a hole in the wall diner they had good smelling liquid soap. When I came out my food was waiting for me and the owner had found some aspirin, he dumped three into the cap and then into my hand. I placed them on the paper napkin next to my plate. Either his opinion of me changed or he remembered where he had stashed them. I ate and drank in silence, looking at the songs in the little jukebox they had in the booth. With food in my stomach, I swallowed the aspirin. They smelled of vinegar so they had probably been around awhile, but I hoped they would do the trick.