About the fish sandwich and the woman that I am going to marry…

Tonight, I went to get the Fish Sandwich with Chuck Lightning. Going to get the Fish Sandwich is a tradition that Chuck and I unknowingly started way back when. [That’s code for, “I don’t know when, but it will detract from the story if I put too much thought into it”] When we go to get this fresh Fish of the Day sandwich from Houston’s it is guy time. And for two guys who spend most of their time on the road talking about Androids and the like, guy time means we are going to talk about girls.  Women, that is. Women.

Our guy time used to last longer, maybe we had more women to talk about, or maybe we’re starting to understand how this conversation eventually ended for our fathers. Not just our biological fathers, but all of the men that have proceeded us in their exploration of how to carefully place their dreams on stage, on paper, and on screen.

Chuck has been doing a great deal of reading lately and as my room mate on the road I have had the pleasure of reading after him. Topics have ranged from the lifestory of George Condo, the artist responsible for Kanye’s latest album cover artwork, to Gladwell’s assertion that Social Media is a passive piece of wool pulled over the eyes of would be activists of the 21st century.  We read digital copies because Chuck has an iPad and a weekly subscription to the New Yorker that provides us with an endless source of reference material.  But, it seems like over the last couple of months we’ve been focusing on biographies and stories about the events that led to the success of some of our favorite leading men in TV, film, literature, and science.  Among all of these individuals, different in color, creed, motivation, and of course discipline there was one eerie commonality.

“I’ll have a side salad, but the size of a whole salad instead of the side that comes with my sandwich,” Chuck said.

“Wait, so you want an additional salad? Because I will have to charge you for that.” said our waitress. Looking at me, she probed, “…and do you want some of his salad, or will you be okay with your own?” It was obvious that she was looking for any clues she could find about our sexual orientation. We were, after all, at dinner together… in Midtown… Atlanta.

“I’ll be fine with the fries,” I said. “Just fries.”

With one of our heroes, Atlanta rapper Andre 3000 sitting surreptitiously at the bar just a few yards away from us, we jumped deep into our ongoing conversation.  For us it was a conversation for which we were always prepared. It could be the half sleep ear hustling of each others international Skype conversations or the very conscious memory of the night in New York when neither of us returned to the hotel room after the show. Whatever it was, this was going to be a good Fresh Fish Sandwich.


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