There are some things that just make me happy. No matter how foul a mood I’m in.
Ice cream. Especially cookies and cream or peppermint.
Fresh flowers. The more unpretentious the better. Daisies. Poppies. Wildflowers.
Leaving work, frustrated by politics and what not, I rushed to BART. Porkchop Express never started on time; they were slated to begin at 7; I would arrive at 7:30; they would still be warming up.
Except they weren’t. A block away I heard the familiar strains of “Mother….”
I picked up my pace. Hurry, hurrry, hurrry. I arrived at the bar, still shouldering the day’s stresses. Ugh. How could they have started on time. How dare they?????
I entered the bar. Surprisingly, it wasn’t packed. What was wrong? Did San Francisco not notice what they were missing out on? Apparently not. Silly city.
Starving, I sat down at the first table, closest to the band. I waved, they responded in kind. I couldn’t leave. Even though food was merely a floor below, I couldn’t miss a precious Porkchop song.
Within moments, all the day’s stresses, the technical difficulties, the cancelled trip to Yosemite, had faded away.
Porkchop Express. Good stuff.