California Dreamin' [part IV]
Continued from part III
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
10:25 a.m. by my watch
but really it's 9:25 at
O'Hare International Airport, Chicago
I'm sitting in a Berghoff Café, wondering how the extra F got on that name, and whether I should be accenting that E. Having lived in Montreal for eight years, I tend to write café and resumé. Both of which I've been writing frequently, of late.
I recognize the name of this restaurant because Dave took me there when I was in Chicago in December. The plan was to eat some wonderful German victuals, but when we arrived we found the queue was around the block. That's why we ended up eating at the Hard Rock Café, a decision I'll regret for eternity.
This morning I'm sitting with my second coffee of the day at the bar at this airport Berghoff's (no hard rolls on the menu, but there's something called a weck) but it's not the kind of bar that has a bartender behind it; it's the kind that forms the boundary between the restaurant and the airport concourse, and sitting here you look out at the airport foot traffic. I like observing other people. Guessing at their names and where they're going. Making up stories about them. Like James Leer in Wonder Boys.
Besides, you never know when Chris Noth might cross your path in an airport. Or Jack. He travels a lot.
In fact, he's on his way to Salt Lake City right now. He might be back in the city—San Francisco—on Thursday, but he's not sure, he told me in an email yesterday; he might have to go to Mexico City. Or Melbourne. I understand that he's afraid to see me, and so I told him, look, you know—for fuck's sake, the whole Internet knows—it would make me very happy to see you and Beauty, but I'm not expecting anything. You know where I'll be. You have my cell phone number. Call me, or don't call me.
You're the one that makes the rules in this relationship.
Me, all I have is a silver charm on a bracelet, a tiny San Francisco cable car, that came with a note that read, "Leave your heart." You bastard.
To be continued in part V.
Wednesday, April 26, 2006
10:25 a.m. by my watch
but really it's 9:25 at
O'Hare International Airport, Chicago
I'm sitting in a Berghoff Café, wondering how the extra F got on that name, and whether I should be accenting that E. Having lived in Montreal for eight years, I tend to write café and resumé. Both of which I've been writing frequently, of late.
I recognize the name of this restaurant because Dave took me there when I was in Chicago in December. The plan was to eat some wonderful German victuals, but when we arrived we found the queue was around the block. That's why we ended up eating at the Hard Rock Café, a decision I'll regret for eternity.
This morning I'm sitting with my second coffee of the day at the bar at this airport Berghoff's (no hard rolls on the menu, but there's something called a weck) but it's not the kind of bar that has a bartender behind it; it's the kind that forms the boundary between the restaurant and the airport concourse, and sitting here you look out at the airport foot traffic. I like observing other people. Guessing at their names and where they're going. Making up stories about them. Like James Leer in Wonder Boys.
Besides, you never know when Chris Noth might cross your path in an airport. Or Jack. He travels a lot.
In fact, he's on his way to Salt Lake City right now. He might be back in the city—San Francisco—on Thursday, but he's not sure, he told me in an email yesterday; he might have to go to Mexico City. Or Melbourne. I understand that he's afraid to see me, and so I told him, look, you know—for fuck's sake, the whole Internet knows—it would make me very happy to see you and Beauty, but I'm not expecting anything. You know where I'll be. You have my cell phone number. Call me, or don't call me.
You're the one that makes the rules in this relationship.
Me, all I have is a silver charm on a bracelet, a tiny San Francisco cable car, that came with a note that read, "Leave your heart." You bastard.
To be continued in part V.
Labels: Jack, moving to California
4 Comments:
Total bastard.
Of course you'll never go to Berghoff again. But that's something else entirely.
This story just keeps drawing me in.
Greetings...
There is a link to this post at The Berghoff Memorial Blog. If you would like it removed, please let me know.
Cheers and auf wiedersehen.
http://berghoffmemorial.blogspot.com/
Whoa...neat blog! I found you in an internet search...this story is really drawing me in...is this true?
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