ten years ago the secret to life was in norm's virgin strawberry margarita's. i would have been wearing stretchy black pants and had jessie's borrowed snowflake sweater tied around my waist. i'd be sitting on a stool at the front desk of the golden gate restaurant in kennewick-town. bad eighties karaoke going on in the background. my car was a speedy silver honda prelude that smelled like mongolian beef from going on delivery runs for $5.25 an hour. i probably had a belly full of stale fortune cookies and leftover egg rolls.
jess and i would watch the clock for our shift to end, share one of norm's margarita's, count up our tips and collect the days fortunes. gross drunk old men would be trying to impress us with their skills at "the claw" and we'd anxiously wait around for lacie to show up with instuctions on how-this-night-was-going-to-go-down.
now it's your turn...
