Those Were The Days

I don’t think I’d ever seen him before, but I felt like I recognized him instantly.  He could have been a long-lost brother–in a sense, was a long-lost brother: same age, same reasonably trimmed beard, same graying ponytail, business casual clothes, sneakers. He was refilling his travel mug (probably his second or third cup of the morning, like mine) while I was opening three packets of Splenda & scanning the blends, looking for my favorite.

I turned and had a few seconds wait behind him as he topped off his cup. I could hear him softly humming Hey Jude to himself. He stepped to the side and, as he snapped on the mug’s lid, he glanced briefly over his shoulder at me and smiled.  Apparently, he had that same long-lost brother, deja-vu moment I’d experienced.

Y’know, he said, There was a time when Colombian Supremo was something else altogether, eh?

Ain’t that the truth, I replied, smiling and thinking about just how long ago that was for me, then wandered off in search of a Chunky bar.

When I got to the register, the clerk only charged me for the candy; said the “old hippie dude” had picked up my coffee.

Right On, Brother. Thanks for reminding me. I owe you one.

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