THANKFUL FOR CHILI

I was on my way to pick up a car on Thanksgiving Day.  My boss Riff said that the company wanted their car in New York City by Monday, and the only day the terminated employee was free was on Turkey day.  Not a problem for me, I had no other plans.  My buddy Frank in Birmingham had asked me to dinner with his family.  In fact, quite a few of my friends who I visit with as I travel around the USA had offered invitations, but I didn't know where I would be.

As it turns out, Sante Fe, New Mexico.  I came into town on a crowded bus late morning, and then got off and climbed into a taxi.  The extremely dirty taxi finally turned onto the street where I was set to pick up, and I hopped out as quickly as I could in the driveway and paid cash.  There was a terrible odor in the cab that I could not wait to get away from.

I walked up the driveway, and a large burly man approached me.  He had on a filthy bathrobe which was wide open, and underneath was a T shirt and boxers.  He appeared to be in bad need of a bath and a shave, and I think he'd been drinking.  "You the guy?" he asked me.

I smiled and nodded.  "Yes Mr. Lombardi, I am Bill Thomas your friendly driver."

He grumbled.  "Yes, I just bet you are.  Come to take my car from me, have you?"

"Yes sir.  Hope you're having a Happy Thanksgiving."

"Oh sure, its a regular party around here!  I can't believe your boss and my boss both make us work on a holiday.  Oh wait a minute... I'm not working, I got fired.  That's why you're stealing my car away from me."

"Uh, your company said they needed the car in New York early Monday."

"And how is that my problem?"

"It's not, but I --"

"But nothing.  Couldn't you have been a little more considerate than to pick up my car on Thanksgiving day?  Do you have a heart?"

"I do.  I was told that you selected this day, that you wanted me to come today."

"That's entirely beside the point."

"OK."

He shook his head and slammed his fist down on the roof of the Ford Taurus.  "Bill, I don't have a job now.  But you want to know what I do have?  I have a mortgage and a car payment and a wife with a fond affection for shopping with my credit card.  Know what else?  I have two kids, one of them needs braces and the other needs..."  He stopped and glared at me.  "Well sir, I don't think I'm going to tell you what the other one needs."

"I don't need to know.  I just want to do a quick inspection of the car, then you'll sign off on it and I'll be on my way."

"Nope."

I was confused.  "No?"

"No sir.  Not gonna happen."

"Which part is a No?"

"All of it.  The whole shooting match."

"I don't understand."

"The only way I'm gonna let you take this car is if you buy some of my homemade chili."  He lumbered over to ten stacks of boxes and grabbed one.  He hauled it over to the Ford and slammed the box onto the trunk.  "Best damn chili in the southwest, and I made it all myself."

"Really?"

"Did I stutter?  I thought I'd find a way of generating more income, so I made up a whole lot of this chili.  Figured I'd sell it on the Internet, and to friends and family.  You know."

I simply nodded.  "Yes sir."

"I used a special recipe.  Three kinds of beans, the fattiest, greasiest meat on the market, plus cayenne peppers, jalapeno peppers, tabasco sauce, and a healthy dose of that blazing hot Chinese chili sauce.  It packs a wallop, let me tell you.  Oh yes, and there is one full cup of brown sugar in every jar. "

"I used to love chili, had the best ever in Texas once."

"Texas?"  He roared with laughter, then became grim.  "Let me tell you something, Texas is a pussy state with pussy chili.  You hear me?  You're in the southwest now, we border Mexico in this state!"

I wondered if he realized that the state of Texas also borders Mexico, but chose to remain silent.  I just walked around the car and marked on my paperwork where I found any dents or scratches.  When I was done, I came back to Mr. Lombardi.  "OK, now if you can just sign here."

"I'm not signing nothing.  And you're not getting the keys."

"Why not?"

"I already told you.  If you want the car, you gotta buy five jars of my homemade chili."

"It's real nice of you to offer, but I can't eat chili."

"Everyone eats chili."

"Not me, not anymore.  I have a stomach condition, and all that fire you have in that chili would kill me."

"It would not kill you, don't stretch the truth."

"You're right, let's just say it would cause me some serious, horrible pain."

He slapped me on the back hard.  "Come on Bill, be a man.  This stuff will grow hair on your chest.  And your back and your feet and your hands.  It'll even put some hair on your chinny-chin-chin!"

I stood and weighed my options.  This guy seemed pretty firm in his convictions, and I really wanted to get in the car and get down the road.  Long drive from New Mexico to New York, and I would doubtless run into lots of holiday traffic.  "I don't have much cash on me."

"Look Bill, I'm out of a job now and this chili is all I have to make enough income to take care of my family.  My wife, and my kids.  Have a heart, man.  And ask yourself, just how badly do I want to take this car with me."

I shuffled my feet.  "How much will it be?"

"Five bucks a jar.  I'll sell you a case."

"I'll take two jars."

"That's not the deal."

I took out my wallet and opened it wide for him to inspect.  There was one ten dollar bill inside.  "That is all the money I have, take it or leave it."

He cursed a few times under his breath, then said, "You are very lucky, I'm going to take your ten bucks and let you take the car."

"Thank you, Mr. Lombardi."

He held out the keys for me, and when I reached for them he snatched them back.  "But remember one thing.  When you go to bed to night, you better hit your knees and thank the good Lord in Heaven above that you met a charitable man today.  I could have kept the car and sent you packing.  Hell, I could have beaten you and left you in a ditch where no one would find you."

I smiled politely.  "I'm awfully glad you didn't."  I took the keys and handed him the ten dollar bill.

He reached into the box and took out two jars.  Then he reached in again and pulled out a third. "Oh crap, here you go, I'll give you three because I'm in the holiday spirit.  Even if I don't have a job and may be in the poor house soon.  Merry Christmas!"

"Happy Thanksgiving," I replied.

"You don't have to go be some sort of smart assed smart aleck, correcting me on my holidays.  Just for that, I'm taking back your bonus jar."  And he did.  "Now hit the road before I change my mind and do some real damage."

I didn't know what he meant by that, but didn't want to hang around and find out.  I got in the car and headed northeast for New York City.  And I said a prayer that all of my friends and family were all having a very Happy Thanksgiving 2013.

THE HAPPY MONGOLIAN

As I was walking down the street yesterday morning in Greensboro, North Carolina, I heard the ring tone on my cell phone which indicated that my boss Riff was calling.  It was a tune of doom and gloom, sort of a death march song.  "Hello Riff."

"Don't try to butter me up butterball,I am royally pissed at you."

"I'm not too happy with you, either."

I could hear the shock in his voice as he asked,  "What did you just say to me?"

"You heard me.  You owe me money, you always owe me money."

"I'm not a freakin' money tree!"

"I only want you to pay me what I earn, and you are about $900 shy of that right now."

"That's a damn lie."

"No sir, it's an understatement.  Check your books.  No wait, you don't need to check your books, because you know full well you've been cheating me."

"You impudent little bastard!"

"If you're calling about the car in Greensboro, it's still not ready.  It's at Firestone, and they say they will have it serviced by 5pm."

"And when will your delicate disposition allow you to deliver it to Wyoming, my little pussywillow?"

"Three days from now.  It's quite a drive."

"Sure it is, but if you were any kind of man you'd drive the entire 1700 miles without stopping."

"Well, I guess I'm not that kind of man.  Which is a crazy man."

"You are no kind of man at all."  That's when I hung up.

As I walked along, I felt the stress and tension in my back, neck and shoulders.  I drive and I write, and both jobs require long hours of sitting still in one place.  I get very tense and sore, and knew I could use a good therapeutic massage.  When I turned the corner, I saw a little house with a sign out front that read "THE HAPPY MONGOLIAN --Massage."  It could not have been more fortuitous, and I walked right up to the front door and went in.

Inside, the lights were off but many candles were burning.  A pretty young Asian girl ran out into the reception area and grabbed my hand.  She was wearing a peek-a-boo nightgown and spoke in pidgin english  "Hello, hello I'm Tina.  You come, I give you good massage."

"Hang on," I said, pulling my hand away from her.  "I just wanted to find out what your prices are."

Tina grabbed my hand again and held on tight.  "$80 for massage, and you get happy ending."

"What?"

"Happy ending.  Very, very happy ending."

"Uh... I just want a good old therapeutic massage."

"Oh yeah, good ole thay-a-pootic, with happy ending."

"I don't want a happy ending."

"You like my happy ending!"  She smiled and nodded knowingly.

"I just want a massage."

"We called Happy Mongolian because the Mongolian was fierce warrior."  Tina held her hands up like claws and bared her teeth.  "Grrrrrrr!  They fierce, but we tame them with happy ending."

"But I don't want --"

"You don't like me?  We got four more pretty girls in the back."  She held up her hand and counted with fingers.  "One, two, three, four."  Then she leaned towards me and dropped her voice a few octaves as if to make a strong impression.  "One, two, three, four."

I pulled my hand away again, and she tried to grab it again.  I kept moving it around and she chased it with her own hand.  "I don't think I want a massage today."

"How about just happy ending?  Happy beginning, happy ending?"

"No, nothing, no happy.  I have to go."  As I turned to walk out, she quickly grabbed one of my butt cheeks and gave it a good squeeze.

"You come back.  I love you!"

I left and went to Firestone to wait and watched the TV in their customer lounge.  Just before 5pm, a promo came on for the local news.  A reporters voice said,  "And police raided The Happy Mongolian today for prostitution."  The images showed Tina and the other girls being taken out in cuffs along with some male clients.  So all in all, it did not appear to be a happy ending.

BIGFOOT EXISTS

Halloween night, and I found myself driving on a dark country highway 65 miles northwest of Austin.  State Capital of Texas and home of Alamo Drafthouse Cinema.  And of course SXSW film and music festival.  I was trying to think distracting thoughts so I would not soak up the forebording vibe out on this night of spooks and goblins.  I'm a driving fool and a fearless man... that's what I'm supposed to be, anyhow.

That's about the time my front tire blew out, and my heart jumped right thru my throat and up to my brain.  I swerved hard on this narrow two lane highway, but was able to control the car and get pulled over on the side of the road.  I got out and could see a problem right away:  it was so pitch dark out that I was going to have a heck of a time changing tires.  I got out my trusty flashlight and fumbled to keep it aimed on the tire as I did my task.

I kept on hearing noises from the woods on both sides of the road.  It was more than a little unnerving.  Some of them were louder and more odd than others.  I felt a chill go threw me.  I heard something pop to the left of me, and jerked my head to the side to see.  Then I heard a distinctive crack to the right of me and whipped my head in that direction.

Then just as I was finishing tightening bolts on the spare tire, the jack and crowbar slipped and I jammed my right hand hard.    I dropped onto my butt and grasped my hand in pain, and then I heard it...

Crashing and thrashing sounds coming from the woods.  Unlike any of the other sounds I had heard, this was big and it was moving steadily in my direction. A deer darted out of the woods and across the road.  I jumped up and climbed into the car, locking the doors.  Even in the dark, I could make out the movement of the trees and this huge object moved towards me.  When I caught sight of it stepping from the woods, I thought it was a bear.  Or could it be a really large gorilla?

Or maybe... I grew up being fascinated by the legend of Bigfoot.  Sasquatch.  I always just figured it was a really good story, but I think that this was him.  Or it.  And he is what ran for my car as I started up and screamed away faster than I've ever driven in my life.  With the car trunk wide open and the tools left on the highway.   It sounded like I hit something as I drove away.  It was 30 miles to the next gas station, and I stopped there to check on the tire and see what I hit.

Turns out I didn't hit anything.  But it looked like something had hit me.  On the right rear fender there was a large indention where it looked like a small tree had fallen.  And in the mouldings I saw lots of hairs.  I felt every hair on my neck stand up and salute.  A childhood boogeyman had just become very real to me.  And crossing paths with this terrifying creature would no doubt haunt me for some time to come.

Interestingly, I had just read yesterday that a company called Court Five is coming out with a movie called EXISTS which is about Bigfoot.   Since it is directed by Eduardo Sanchez, who did THE BLAIR WITCH PROJECT, I am certain that it will be very scary.  I am also certain that I will be squirming in my seat when I watch it, remembering the night that a driving fool had a close encounter with a legend.

4 WHEELERS

I was filling up with gas on a rural highway in Arkansas, on my way to deliver in Fayetteville.  I had been to Fayetteville in North Carolina, but never the one in Arkansas.

A car came screaming by honking, followed closely by a big rig semi truck.  But the truck was getting progressively slower as it neared me.  It had two flat tires and was limping until it came to a complete halt very close to where I was pumping.

A huge woman jumped out of the truck and waddled towards me, screaming and cussing up a storm.  She had a red solo cup in her right hand, and was wildly gesturing with her left hand.  "I've had it!  That's it, no more!  All of them need to be caught and killed."  I did my best to pretend I didn't notice her, but she kept walking straight towards me.  Why oh why am I a magnet for the wacky people of the world?  "Hey you!  That's right, I'm talking to you!  I have just about had it with all you four wheelers."

"You were speaking to me?"

"Who else would I be talking to.  You're just another low down, no account four wheeler."

"What's a four wheeler?"

"You, and all those like you, who drive a car or pickup or minivan or some such.  Those who don't have the skills and pride to drive the 18 wheelers like I do."

"Oh."

"Oh?  Is that all you've got to say?  You don't even have the good manners to introduce yourself to a lady?"

"Hi, my name is Bill Thomas."

She went from outrage to homespun warmth in the blink of an eye.  "Madge Ferguson, seriously damn glad to meet you."  She grabbed my hand in a painfully firm grasp and shook it for all she was worth.  Then she spit into the cup.  I could see she had a very big chunk of tobacco in her cheek.  "Did you see what that fella did to me?"

"I just saw him fly by honking his horn."

"A honk of victory, but that victory was hollow, let me tell you.  He had cut me off, and I don't cotton to that kind of behavior.  No siree bob.  I had to teach him a lesson, but he got tricky with me, and next thing you know I ran over a pile of cut wood on the shoulder of the highway... and well, now it looks like I got me two flat tires."  She spit into the cup.

"Road rage is getting out of hand."

"His rage, not mine, I am a down to earth lady who treats others like I'd like to be treated myself.  Until they cross me.  Do not cross Madge.  No sir."

"Mind if I ask you a question?"  In retrospect, I should not have asked the question.

"I might, but go ahead anyway."

"Sometimes when I'm driving down the highway at 70mph, I come up on two semi trucks one behind the other.  Just as I get to them and am about to pass, the one in back jumps over to the left lane.  And just goes side by side with the other truck at 60mph.  It backs me up and all the other cars that are behind me.  And sometimes they just glide along side by side for ten miles before the one in the left lane finally moves back over to the right."

"Oh, well that's easy.  Some truck have a governor on the engine and can only go so fast."

"Then I wonder why once the truck moves over he speeds up and I have to do 80 to pass him."

She threw her head back and let out a loud guffaw.  "Well then in that case, they're duckin' with you."

"Duckin'?"

"I'm trying to use less profanity.  They's messin' with you is all."

"Purposefully?"

"I don't think they'd purposefully mess with you on accident."

"But why?"

"Cuz they're bored, and cuz we are superior to all you four wheelers.The way you all try to drive all the way up to where the lanes merge into one before a construction site.  That's when we ride the middle line and stop y'all from doing that.  Hell, we're more effective than the police at teachin' lessons."  She spit into her cup.

"I often think of the big rigs as Imperial Starships, and the cars like me are X wing fighters."

"I get that reference, but Darth Vader pretty much crushed your little rebellion, now didn't he?"  She giggled to herself.

"I think his son Luke led the charge to victory and defeated the Empire."

She shook her head and let out a hoot of laughter.  "Boy, it's clear that you need to brush up on your Star Wars.  You got it all ass backwards."  She spit into the cup, then wiped her hand across her face to mop away the juice.

"Maybe we can all just find a way to get along out on the road.  What do you think?"

Madge glared at me.  "You don't want to know what I think.  That's what I think!"

"I just see so much hatred and violence and nastiness among folks every single day.  I pray for peace."

"I'm a praying woman myself, but you are a fool if you think you can make a difference.  Or that any kind of peace is possible."  She sneezed into her hand, and then used the hand to brush her hair back.

"Is there anything I can do to help you, Madge?"

"Yes sir, go catch that asshole in the four wheeler who cut me off and kill him for me.  Could you do that?"  She waddled off towards the mini-mart portion of the gas station, and I topped off my tank and got back on the road again.

SHUT UP AND KISS

I had just delivered a car in Indianapolis.  I was feeling sort of melancholy and introspective.  Why was I still driving cars all over the country when it wasn't getting me anywhere?  Well, it got me from Point A to Point B, but it wasn't moving me forward in my life.  Bill Thomas, driving fool, lonely guy.  Something was missing from my life, and I just...  Lots of confusion, frustration and sadness flooded over me.

I walked downtown trying to clear my mind.  Think happy thoughts!  I walked past the Cafe where Karen used to work, only now it was just an empty space, not being used for anything.  Karen, my one true love, my fantasy girl.  Too bad she liked girls more than me, but I still loved her anyway.  Guess that says a lot about me.

Last time I saw her was last Thanksgiving at her home in Richmond, when I had the misfortune of taking a pain pill while drinking and getting all whacked out.  I professed my deep love for her and said I wanted her to be my wife.  Really freaked her out, and I hadn't had the chance to try to fix the situation.  Or more correctly, I had not yet made the effort.

I felt a poke in the middle of my back.  I turned around and couldn't believe my eyes.  It was Karen, standing right there in front of me.  "Karen, what are --"

"Shh!" she said.

"But I--"

She grimaced.  "I said SHH!"

"How did you--"

She interrupted me by putting her finger to my lips.  "Don't talk.  Don't say a word.  Just come with me."  She took my hand and led me down the block.  We turned down a street and went a few more blocks, then entered a very nice hotel.  She took me to the elevator and we went to the next to the top floor.  We got off and went down the hall, and she took out a key and opened a door.

"Karen, please tell me--"

She yanked me into the room behind her.  "What is it that you don't understand about SHH?  Be quiet, OK?"

I nodded.  But I really did want to know what was going on, why she was here, how she found me, and a lot of other questions.  Last time I saw her things were tense and dicey, so I wanted to know where we stand.  I watched her sit down and take off her shoes.  I knew I was supposed to keep my mouth shut, but I had to ask.  "Karen, last time I saw you things were kind of messed up.  Are we--"

This time she put her entire hand over my mouth.  She shook her head and laughed.  "Shut up and kiss me, will you?"  I didn't hesitate for a second, I grabbed her and kissed her passionately on the lips.  It had been a long time, although I had dreamed of this more times than I could count.  And the reality was so much better than the fantasy.

Four hours later, I woke up in the bed alone. I hoped it hadn't all been a dream.  And then Karen walked out of the bathroom, dressed and ready to go.  "Thank you," she said.

"No, no, thank you!"

"I needed that."

"Well I'm very glad I could be of service."

"Just don't ruin it and tell me that you're in love with me."

"OK.  But I am, you know."

She nodded and let out a sigh.  "Yep, I know."  She walked over to the door. "Can you let yourself out?  I have to get back to the east coast and make sure my new Cafe hasn't burned down or anything."

"You're leaving?"

"I have a flight leaving in two hours.  Gotta go."  She started to open the door and then turned around to face me.  "Cheryl died a week ago.  She's been sick for a while, that's why I had to rush off last Thanksgiving.  To be with her.  I was here for the funeral."  I didn't know what to say.  Cheryl was her ex-lover, and though they had split up Karen could not seem to get over her.

"I'm sorry to hear."

"No you're not.  But that's OK.  I thought I'd walk over and take a look at the old restaurant that we ran together, and there you were.  Just when I needed you."

I shrugged.  "I'm sincerely sorry that you are hurting."

She smiled at me.  "Come see me in Richmond soon.  I miss you all the time."

"Count on it," I told her.  She walked out the door, and my heart went with her.

TWERKING WITH MILEY

As I drove through Minnesota, my cell phone rang.  "Hello, this is Bill."

"Bill?  Bill who?"  I recognized the voice of sweet old Mrs. Sherman, whose car I moved up north in the summer, and back down to Florida for the winter.  At the age of 95, she was active but got confused sometimes. "Who is this?"

"Mrs. Sherman, its me, Bill Thomas, your favorite driver."

"Oh Bill, yes, yes, my little Bill.  I am so glad you called me, I have been thinking about you."

"That's nice to hear."

"Yes of course.  Bill, I have a question, I'm deeply concerned."

"Well, what's the problem?"

"I was watching my TV the other night, and a young girl was on in her underwear doing some type of dance or something.  But it looked more to me like the kind of actions a woman would reserve for her husband in the bedroom.  Do you understand my meaning?"

I smiled.  "Yes, quite clearly.  I think you are talking about Miley Cyrus."

"No, I don't think that was her name."

"She also used to go by the name of Hannah Montana."

There was a long pause.  "Now Bill, I know you're just teasing me.  No one would have a silly name like that."

"It was the name of her character on a Disney channel TV program."

"Really?  Are you serious?"

"I am."

"My goodness gracious."

"Miley was a teen goddess while on that show, and now she's trying hard to break free of that image."

"Bill, I can tell you that Mr. Walt Disney would not have approved of what I saw her doing on TV."

"I'm quite sure you're right, ma'am."

"She was moving and shaking and humping and pumping."

"Yes, I saw it."

"She was gyrating till the cows come home.  It was just plain nasty."

"Yep."

"What is happening to our world, Bill?  Can you please tell me?  First Syria, and now this Miley girl doing that naughty nonsense."

"They call it twerking."

"Oh go on!"

"No really, that's what they call it.  Miley was twerking."

"Well sir, she was doing something that should not be done in mixed company.  Much less on TV where hundreds of people can see her.  Maybe even thousands."

"Maybe even millions."

"Oh goodness, I hope not.  Bill, I am baking my famous blackberry cobbler, I wish you were here to try it later tonight."

"So do I, but I'm in Minnesota."

As she spoke, it sounded as if her voice were cracking.  "I miss you, when can you come see me again?"

"Next time you want your car moved, I'll be there."

She hesitated.  "Does it have to wait till then?  Could you just come visit when you're in the neighborhood?  I've grown very fond of you, Bill."

"As I am of you, Mrs. Sherman.  But right now I'm in Minnesota."

"Oh, OK.  Well thank you for thinking of me and calling me tonight."  She hung up the phone.

I smiled as I thought about her watching Miley doing the twerking routine on MTV.  And that's when my front tire blew out.  It was a chilly night, and I did not look forward to having to change a flat in the dark.  But that's the life of a driving fool.

SYRIA DILEMMA

Yesterday I was in a diner in upstate New York, not too far from Rochester.  I was taking a break from the road, sitting at the counter enjoying a diet Dr. Pepper and slice of apple pie.  The waitress offered me a slice of cheddar cheese on the pie, which I had never heard of.  Had many scoops of ice cream on pie over the years, but never cheese.  I tried it and found out I enjoyed it very much.

A hefty, rugged-looking man came and plopped down at the counter two seats from me.  He turned to me as if we already in the middle of a conversation and asked,  "Think we're gonna?"

"Excuse me?" I asked.

"Think we're gonna?"

"Think we're gonna what?"

He looked at me as if I were dense. "You think we're gonna go?"

"Think we're gonna go where?"

"To Syria, to bomb the hell out of those bastards?"

"Uh, well I really don't know."  I knew to tread carefully, politics could be an explosive discussion topic.

"You know that Obama the Messiah wants us to go," he said with a sneer.

"Does he?"

"Oh come on, now you know he does.  But consider this:  Why does Obama insist on moving forward with this punishing strike against Syria?"

"I'm really not sure."

"And you're not the only one!" he exclaimed.  "Best case scenario,  we slap the Syrians down a few pegs for using chemical weapons, they learn their lesson and go on killing their political rivals with conventional weaponry instead."  He turned and called out to the waitress.  "Hey Maggie, how about a cup of coffee over here."

"The pie is good," I offered, trying to possibly change the subject.

"The pie is always good, but I bet they aren't enjoying pie over in Syria.  Don't forget the other side of the coin."

"Which is?"

"The worst case scenario.  That would be that we try to strike Syria only to encounter Russian military defending them."  Maggie brought him the coffee and set it in front of him without saying a word.  She seemed to be having a bad day and turned on her heel.  "And in the meanwhile Iran makes good on it's threat of retaliation against our ally Israel, emboldening other radical Muslim nations to join in.  And so with the purge of Jews in Israel and the middle east and attacks against any and all us embassies and military bases..."  He stopped and shook his head, then went silent.

Maggie came back quickly and pointed at me.  "You need anything else?"

"No thanks," I replied.

She turned to the man who had been speaking to me, and the tone of her voice suggested tension between them.  "You want pie, Jesse?"

He fumed.  "No I do not want pie!  I want democracy."  She threw her hands into the air and walked away.  
"The USA and France will just be standing there like two kids caught with their hand in the cookie jar until other nations, outraged by the destruction in Israel join in and we start World War 3."

"I really do hope not," was all I could think to say.

"Of course you hope not.  We all hope not.  But hope has nothing to do with this.  The other countries around the world do not support what we are planning, or I should say, what Obama is planning.  And now he is hiding behind Congress, saying that they have to authorize."

"Are you sure about that?"

He laughed.  "Am I sure?  Yes, I am very sure."  His cell phone rang, playing the Battle Hymn of the Republic.  "This is Jesse.  What?  Yep, I can be right over."  He hung up and gulped down the entire cup of hot coffee.  "Listen partner, I got to run.  Can you take care of this coffee for me?  Thanks a bunch!"  He ran out of the diner before I could answer.  But I guess I can afford a cup of coffee for a fellow American.