They serve white pages thick steak, mashed potatoes and lettuce diced to postage stamp bites on Monday nite while the football game is on and men are scrambling each others brains on the field.
Mr. Louden sat at a table in the corner tonite, drinking an IPA and cutting into the entree. He affected an elderly man’s voice and asked, “Have you ever made love to a stroke victim?”
Others at the table laughed and the conversation turned to thrift. At one point, during the Great Depression for example, it was beneficial to take the little salt packet from the restaurant home with you, and to keep the small bar of hotel soap when you’ve checked out.
“At this point the advertising machines are disgorging such voluminous amounts of trinkety drek a man would become victim to a hoarding death in a matter of months.”
Crushed under reusable tote bags emblazened with pharmaceutical brands and real estate agent’s complimentary pens. The urge for thrift takes on a new expression in that one must refuse items today in order to be thrifty.
He cut away a golf ball of fat and with his fork trucked it to the edge of his plate.
“Look at that. It’s like seeing my heart.”
There are no cases for him to solve anymore. The once paid observer gives it out for free now.