My bicycle was stolen. I feel like I’m in an Italian movie.
Last week, after my last class, I walked to the burger joint near my old apartment for some chili queso fries, maybe my second or third favorite meal in Austin. I go there occasionally, certainly not often enough to consider myself a regular, but often enough that the guy on the other side of the counter recognizes me. He wears an American flag bandanna under a Dallas Cowboys baseball cap, which gives the illusion that his head is significantly longer than it actually must be.
Last week, he was in the back, or just somewhere else in the building. When he emerged, we chatted and he drank some water, and then he leaned a little bit to the right and a little bit forward to see what I was eating. “Always the same thing,” I told him.
"Or wings," he said.
I think I ordered the wings once or twice, almost a year ago. Sammie ordered them a couple of times, but we didn’t sit at the counter. I have no idea how he remembered that.