The man at the table beside mine is a coffee shop regular. Don’t know his name but I know his habits.
A woman approaches him. I’ve seen her once in a while. They chat for a bit. He mentions that she’s back from her travels and elaborates, remarking that she returned to Reno to see friends and family, like, her daughters and parents still live there. “Oh, yes,” he responds, “you left everyone back there, didn’t you?”
“Yes, but I love living here in Ashland. I think it’s great.”
Then he asks, “Remind me your name again?”
“Donna, and you’re?”
“Jack.”
I‘m a little amused by the sequence. Then again, I’ve gone through those sequences myself. A face and history is recalled, but the name is swimming through the mind’s lower depths, beyond your reach.
