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When Toby suggested lunch I envisioned something along the lines of a classy restaurant with good food and top-shelf scotch. Instead, I sat across from him on a scarred wooden, picnic-like table, carved with lover’s initials, in the middle of a parking lot between a hardware store and a small shopping mall.
“What do you think?” he asked, unwrapping the foil from a pork taco. He tore open a packet of hot sauce and squeezed it.
We sat among a crowd of hungry patrons who stood in line beside Guerro’s Taco Truck placing their orders. It was a perfect day for eating outside. Cloudless with temps in the middle seventies. The only negative, if it could be called such, was the lack of shade which could allow the sun to beat down on us if we lingered later in the year. I opened my second stea
