The person at Waffle Housedrops my card and starts crying.She’s here alone until 2. It’s 2.Kind of hard to avoid the factthat I am part of the problem.With that in mind, how muchof a tip is a good tip, and whereis the line between a good tipand a messiah complex?Trying to quickly stop crying,she asks me, do you ever justget so tired? If she wants toburn down the Waffle House,I’ll go get some kerosene.There are other sandwiches.I offer her Advil. I don’t knowwhat else to do. She declines.Anyway, she says, shakingher head. She’ll be able to sitonce the restaurant is empty,meaning, of course, when I leave.
~ Danny Caine
I'm still recovering from the 2025 World Series, maybe the most exciting ever. I loved every inning, I wanted the Jays to win. I would not have missed it for the world. Congrats to the damn Dodgers.
“Baseball is but a game, glitter on dirt. It is three outs and four bases and nine innings (sometimes 18) and a bunch of millionaires grunting on your TV screen. It is a nice summer day, a hot dog and a few cold ones. It’s an expensive jersey that you didn’t need but bought anyway. And it is all, compared to the realities of life, completely trivial. It’s a beautiful distraction. Neither the actions nor the outcomes actually matter. In other words: It’s all only as important and as meaningful as it makes us feel. And on Saturday, this heavenly, cruel, perfectly imperfect sport sent any and all who interacted with World Series Game 7 through every emotion the human experience has to offer. Fans from Saskatchewan to Southern California, from Toronto to Tokyo, were held captive by the game’s wondrous, tortuous, addictive power. It was, in every way, the best baseball has to offer.” Game 7 took fans everywhere in an off-the-rails thrill ride.~ Jake Mintz
