The Regulars


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There is a restaurant in our neighborhood that we find ourselves in a couple of times a week. It’s an old school coffee shop with booths and a counter and a glass case filled with pies and cakes. They serve breakfast all day and the music they play is always pre-80’s. (Winchester Cathedral, Horse With No Name, Standing in the Shadows of Love) I think of it as an extension of our house. When Bob was younger, sometimes he would lay down in the booth with his head in my lap and fall asleep. Now he goes up to the cashier to pay the check on his own. My order, however, stays the same.

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