Thursday, September 07, 2006

Dear pink-haired woman at the last chance diner,

It wasn't your hair, highlighted pink, completely unruly, decorated with fake roses. You are just amazing. The open-faced turkey sandwich (with gravy), and your highlighted, flowered head were in competition for attention, but neither matched your incomparable joie de vivre. Your wrists were circled by pink quartz. Your shirt featured pink flowers on a white background. Your shoes were white, and pink. I still don't know your age. Forties? Late forties? That's how you looked-- that's how you seemed-- reading the paper while my Oma and I had our meal.

I encourage you to continue not giving a fuck. Dye that shit pink. Crochet, or whatever crafty thing it is you do to make yourself feel arty. You are way ahead of us.

Keep going.

Very truly,
The D.L.


dr von drinkensnorten said...

my love for you is so much more than driving truck (bezerker)..

Jessie Natemeier said...

My love for you is deeper and so much more powerful than even the grand falls of Niagara. And so it pains me to inform you that the aforementioned Last Chance Diner with be serving it's final supper this Sunday September 17th, due to a severe lack in menu pricing (and presumably quality)I leave you with one notable piece of advice to drown your sorrows in: Hang in there Baby!