Patty melt, patty
Melt, you’re so fine! A little
Taste of you just blows
My mind. Oh, patty
Melt, I love your gooey cheese,
And your car’melized
Onions taste so sweet.
Add a side of fries and you
Make my life complete.
Pretty patty melt,
I’ll miss your toasty goodness,
But more than that, I’ll
Miss the fantastic
Service I always received
At the Weathered Wheel.
Okay, so that was definitely not my finest poem. And it was more than a little cheesy (pun totally intended), especially since I forgot to ask for onions today.
The Weathered Wheel, like the Ahoy Fountain, is one of my regular lunchtime haunts. The service is great, the food is delicious, and it feels like home. It reminds me of the Corner Café, the restaurant I frequented in my teen years. I don’t think I ever did any writing at the Corner (as we called it), but only because I had more important things to do while I was there, like:
- Discussing boys;
- Arguing about whether or not I would give the hottie cook a note from my bestie, who was hardcore crushing on him but too chicken to ask him out herself; and
- Burying my nose in a book to avoid the embarrassment of – gasp! – being seen in public with my dad.
At the Weathered Wheel, though, I’ve done lots of writing. I’ve even talked writing with other regulars and staff. They got to know me and I, them. It’s like a family, a home away from home, in that whole “it takes a village” sort of way.
Small towns are like that, I guess. I’m so glad I get to live in one, and that my kids get to grow up in one. Well, near one, at any rate.
I’m gonna miss this town, this job, these people, these friends.
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