“Table for five,” I say to the greeter. “I think there’s a reservation.”
She looks for the name I give her, then glances up at me. “Is the rest of your party here?”
“Almost,” I hear myself say, when, really, it’s anyone’s guess. It’s an end-of-semester lunch with colleagues. They’re giving and grading exams, having last-minute conferences with students. Not me. I’m retired.
She looks around. The restaurant, a popular joint in Detroit, is mostly empty at the moment. Within the next half hour it will be packed. Continue reading