I miss Bill Whithers’ early music
I miss mid 1990s hip hop
I miss running a restaurant
I miss the late great radio station WDCU
I miss Aaron Sorkin writing great TV
I miss traveling before a bunch of terrorists made airline travel as elegant as dinner at the Smorgasbord
I miss inspiration
I miss the best dessert place in the history of DC, Dolce Final
I miss the abundance of civility
I miss having a steady last call of the night
Even as Pitchers and Catchers have already reported, and the rest of the camps open today, I miss affordable baseball… anyone up for a minor league game?
I miss smokey jazz joints with a cat older than my father working the brushes (if you’re unfamiliar with the term, that’s a damn shame.)
I miss the certainty of purpose that I’ve somehow replaced with holding life together through force of will, a roll of duct tape and good luck
I miss writing in my journal
I miss my old post-divorce loft
I miss evenings of uncomplicated truth and overly complicated women
I miss blue lights in the basement
I miss slow dancing
I miss the nights when sleep came easily
It’s been barely a week, but I already miss football
I miss drive-in movie theaters… even though I have never been to one
I miss writing with fountain pens, or more accurately, good cause to use them
I miss the days when bra straps weren’t viewed as accessories and better still just weren’t viewed
I miss easy recoveries from the times I mortgaged the morning for pursuit of the night
I miss the illusion of meritocracy but wonder if I am better for the disquieting knowledge that replaced it
I miss my mojo, if you’ve seen it, please send it back my way
I miss the days when I always knew where the goal posts were… and if you’re the bloke in charge of moving them, please go pound sand
I miss writing this blog – the acknowledged vanity, the quiet craving for affection, yes, but the community of disparate spirits most of all.
Posted by restaurant refugee 
