Cold Crispy Salads

When I meet Harry for lunch

I try meeting Harry for lunch

at least every other week

I love Harry, and lunch,

he chooses he always chooses

Olympic Diner 807 Eighth Avenue

near 49th Street, where the word Olympic

does not mean games started

in Greece 776 BC. More like

Olympic feat to meet for lunch given

everything else. Harry is

a Western Omlette type, Hamburger

man. Even Chili. He often starts

his mean with Olympic Diner coffee,

milk and Splenda, unlimited refills,

then moves to Yankee Bean Soup,

a favorite. I make wild forays. Yesterday

I thought about a portobello wrap

but Harry said those two words,

both separate and together, caused him to feel ill

and so I reverted to my default position,

cold crispy salad, neither cold nor crispy,

sans chicken.

 

 

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