We are living in times so difficult that my wife, who is predominantly practical, said the other day, “It must be the end times.” Well, I agree with her. But I knew now was the time to look at the bright side. We had just passed beds of tulips (these bulbous perennials have never been as bright as this year) and she said what she never says, “Let’s eat lunch at Ben’s, there behind the tulips.”
Seating was at every other table, a pandemic precaution, but we were seated right away. It’s a Jewish restaurant, but the head waiter was Asian, the waitress Hispanic, and the bus girl Hispanic, too. We felt right a home on Long Island. My betrothed ordered chicken soup with carrots and a big matzo ball in the middle, and a seven-layer cake with a Coke, her favorite. I ordered a hot pastrami sandwich and a Sprite drink. We don’t really overdo it.
It might be the end times, but we know how to keep depression away. The bill was only forty dollars, and we got home safely, despite nice-day pandemic traffic.