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This past summer, my little town of Monrovia opened up for a few brief weeks. My daughter’s in-laws were in town and we all agreed to meet downtown for dinner.
For whatever reason, I drove with my friend Anthony and we had a several-block walk to the restaurant. We stopped off at a new small shop, where we admired a Route 66 clock that would look perfect in my backyard. (I love big clocks; a friend thinks I am trying to buy time). I demurred on the clock purchase; at 65 bucks it slightly exceeded an impulse buy and I didn’t want to lug it around for the night.
So my friend Anthony bought it for me and carried it to the restaurant. Where about 12 of us had a lovely time. The restaurant had gone to a lot of trouble fixing up their back patio and the staff was unbelievably accommodating.
We all spilled out onto the street – with JY carrying the clock – where was what could only be described as a street party was going on. People everywhere. JY stopped to admire a Harley, the owner was at hand and offered JY to have a seat and start her up. JY handed the clock to Anthony and happily gave the Harley a few revs.
Whereupon someone offered Anthony 250 bucks cash for the clock and Anthony accepted without batting an eye.
Our little downtown is now vacant and empty. I used to go out of my way to walk or drive through town, I avoid it now as it’s too depressing.
PS. Whenever I see Anthony, I ask him for the time.
PPS. The title is an exaggeration. We were blessed to have son #1 for an extended leave over Christmas; there were many great dinners and a road trip to Utah to see family. My daughter and her family live nearby and we see them often. But the night I’ve described is the last time I remember laughing so hard I thought I was going to puke.
PPS. If opening up Monrovia for a few brief weeks led to any “spike” in COVID cases I never heard about it.Published in