“Have you ever gone back to a favorite place, and it just wasn’t the same?”

“Look, Wolf, you can never go home, never go back and things change. Besides, maybe the place made positive changes. What was so different?”

“The people, Minnie. I used to be one of the regulars. Everyone knew me. I walked in today, and did not see one person I recognized. The place has been remodeled, the food is still great, but I didn’t feel the ambience.”

“That’s because you are a narcissistic bar fly, Wolf. You expect to be welcomed like a queen wherever you go. I am surprised you didn’t start a lengthy conversation with the new people, leaving your business card, and all that stuff.”

“The bartender was a young blonde girl, who could not have been any older than 13. She was wearing short shorts and a baseball cap. She was ditzy, flighty, and could not squeeze her oranges.”

“What the hell?”

“I asked for a screwdriver, with fresh orange juice. She had this machine that squeezes oranges, and she attempted to squeeze, but the damn orange flew across the bar. I tried to catch it, but it landed on some guy’s bald head. Have you ever seen a bald guy with an orange on his head?”

“I hope you didn’t grab that orange off his head.”

“No. He ate it.”

“Then what?”

“She told me her squeezer was broken. Would it be ok if she used regular orange juice?”

“Did you agree?”

“I made a joke: Mama has a squeeze box, Daddy never sleeps at night.”

“Oh for crazy!”

“Of course, being 13 years old, she had no clue what I was talking about. So, I politely told her: Make it a double, sister. I am seriously parched.”

“How many did it take to quench your parched state?”

“3 Minnie. For a 13 year old, she makes a wicked screwdriver.”

“Are you going back soon, Wolf?”

“Yeah. I missed the old place. And now that I have become acquainted with Blondie, I just might go back next Sunday, to see who gets the orange on the head.”

Wolf

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