1. Gary O'

    Gary O' New Member

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    Looks like a nice place

    Discussion in 'New Member Introductions' started by Gary O', Mar 17, 2017.

    Jus’ poppin’ in to say ‘Hi’

    Lookin’ fer a publisher…proof reader…editor

    I really don’t care much to critique other’s stuff

    But

    Will take a look

    Heh, don’t even care to git mine critiqued



    A bit about myself;


    I retired

    Built, moved to a cabin

    Out a bit

    Off grid

    Writing about it



    I’ve written other stuff

    Here’s one now;


    Mac and Velma’s


    Back in the ‘70s,

    ….before drive thru coffee shop chains,

    before anyone knew what a Starbucks was,

    a little cafe sat at the edge of hwy 30, between Linnton and St Johns, smack dab in the middle of Portland’s northwest industrial section of mostly huge tanks of gas, diesel and oil.

    They just opened for breakfast, closing at around 11 AM.


    Mac was a long retired Marine.
    Grey hair in a crew cut, high and tight.
    A tattoo on his forearm, not ones like today, just a simple anchor.
    Velma was the chief cook and bottle washer.

    Didn’t see her much, just heard her, bangin’ pots and pans, flippin’ hotcakes.
    Mac was the entertainer and pourer of coffee.
    Always wiping his hands on the little bar towel tied to the front of his white apron.
    White short sleeve shirt.
    Stiff collar.
    The tiny place was always spick and span.
    Simple.
    Mostly white and chrome.
    A dozen red stools at the wooden counter.
    Three padded booths.

    ‘There he is, last of the all-time greats!’ was his typical greeting of a trucker that pulled his tanker rig into the gravel parking lot.

    Of a cold morning, after working all night, I’d stop there, needing a shot of joe for the 30 bleary miles to the house.

    The coffee was always good.
    Back when coffee was just coffee.
    They call it ‘house brew’ now.

    Mac would yard a plain cake donut outta the glass lidded pedestal container for me with his dinner plate sized hand.
    ‘How ya doin’ kid?’
    I was not an all-time great.
    Truckers, gnarly truckers, with gravel for voices, and road maps for faces, they were the all-time greats.

    The donut was not sweet, but a saccharine contrast to the java.
    I’d listen to Mac’s snappy patter with the truckers.
    Sardonic retorts to Mac’s rhetoric was pure entertainment.
    Everyone looked forward to the upbeat boost Mac would give them.
    It was a good start to another day.

    I drove by that spot not long ago.
    The little café is gone.
    Mac and Velma may very well have taken it with them.

    Last of the all-time greats.



    Anyway,
    Like I said, looks like a nice place
     

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