Friday morning. July 15, 2016.
After dropping Mrs M off at the ferry, headed up into town for coffee at McDs. Followed an elderly black man in cargo shorts, moccasins and white socks, and an olive drab 1960s era Marine flat-topped fatigue cap in the door. He was very thin, the skin tight to his face, moving a little slow, frail and not all that steady on his feet. As he stepped into line he was greeted by a friend having his breakfast in a back booth. The friend was much younger, in his fifties, Hispanic, barrel-chested, broad-faced so there was plenty of room between his cheeks for his broad smile, with a graying mustache and long gray hair pulled back in a ponytail.
Friend: How you doin’?
Old man: Feeling blest, thank you. Feeling blest.
Friend (his smile broadens): So, just another day?
Old man: That’s right. Just another day.
Another friend, whom I didn’t get a good look at, on his way out, asks the old man how he’s doing.
Old man: I’m blest. I’m blest. How are you?