tag:blogger.com,1999:blog-6313139.post-1136528311968180322006-01-05T23:18:00.000-07:002006-01-05T23:26:03.243-07:00<div style="text-align: right;"><a onblur="try {parent.deselectBloggerImageGracefully();} catch(e) {}" href="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2729/166/1600/coffee%20cup.3.jpg"><img style="margin: 0px auto 10px; display: block; text-align: center; cursor: pointer;" src="http://photos1.blogger.com/blogger/2729/166/320/coffee%20cup.jpg" alt="" border="0" /></a>December 3 </div> <p class="MsoNormal">Dear Wichita,</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I'm writing you from Hock's Cafe where I'm letting my mug of java cool off, steam swirling into the air. You have to be patient for some things in this world.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I spent this morning in a used CD store, a hole in the wall that was playing Woody Guthrie on the fuzzed out speakers. I wandered the bumpy aisles, nosing through the collection of discs for about an hour or so. I can't go into a store like this and be out again in less than an hour, it seems.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Mitch was running the till. He looked to be about 37 or so and probably had dropped his share of acid in days gone by. He nodded as I came through the door and then went back to staring at the wall, lost in Guthrie's <i style="">Dust Bowl Ballads</i>.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I bought a couple of old Tom Waits albums, one of which I think I may have owned and lost previously. I paid Mitch, who nodded again and told me to "have a good one."</p> <p class="MsoNormal">I don't think he meant it.</p> <p class="MsoNormal">Anna is supposed to meet me here for coffee in a half hour or so. I'm early on purpose.</p>Darth!darth-tator@hotmail.com