Alice's Restaurant. My favorite hole-in-the wall strip mall greasy spoon, separated from St. Vincent de Paul Thrift Store by a neighborhood Ace Hardware and Lutz Swiss Bakery. At Alice's the decor is Pepsi vs. Coke peppered with mid 80s country geese. We sat at the counter, Jack and Dave coloring a page in the construction truck coloring book while I sipped bad black coffee from a Victor mug, when an acquaintance walks in and sits at the counter beside us. OK, more than an acquaintance. My friend's ex-husband. They are freshly divorced just this year, and hear much from her side but little from his. I hope I treated him with dignity and respect. I think I did. We talked about work (how he can't get any because he works in the housing market and we all know how depressed that is), about his kids, about the dog. But I could tell he was nervous. He cleared his throat often, shifted in his chair, even started whistling a little tune when the conversation lulled. I excuse...
formerly thrilled by thrift