Walking With Jack

There’s this great Mexican restaurant in town that I’ve been visiting for about a decade now. Daughter was practically raised there. We’ve probably over done it (Daughter now rolls her eyes when we mention the place) but we’ve also had a lot of good times and brought a lot of friends into the place and made new ones there, too. It’s a little bit of a trek to get there from home but we’ve got various activities to attend to in that part of town so it’s easy enough to drop by before or after or during… 

I’ll often bike there. There’s one bike rack in front. They could use a couple more. 

It’s also pretty close to the commuter train. So that’s easy, too. 

As I’ve made some new friends in there (did I mention there’s a bar?) I’m reminded that not as many people bike, train, walk places… So, for example, when I was in there the other day I was mentioning that I had just hopped off the train and walked over and that I’d be doing the same on the way out… John (we’ll call him), an older jazz saxophone player looked at me with amazed eyes—“you mean you’re just going to walk all over town and hop trains all afternoon—like Jack Kerouac?!” 

Fast forward a few visits and John was in there again. As I was heading out I said, “I’m gonna go walking with Jack…” He must have forgotten about the Kerouac comment because he conjured up a very different image this time, saying, “you mean your 8-foot tall jackrabbit?!” 

“Haha, that’s right!” Sometimes it’s best to just nod and smile and go with the flow. As I was walking off into that blissful sunset, though, I did enjoy the image of me and my invisible giant rabbit Kerouac-ing around together… a couple of amigos on the road…