I decided to go to my job today, even though I was still feeling bad from whatever bug I’ve been fighting with. Brother Vincent called on his way out of Hendersonville where he had been pumping concrete for a swimming pool deck. He wanted to know did I want an early lunch and did Christoph want to come too. We said yes and it wasn’t long before it was the three of us again just like it used to be before so much changed. We decided to go to the Dinner Bell, a little meat and 3 where I figured I could get catfish and a biscuit. Vincent got cornbread on account of it’s more country he said and he asked didn’t I like cornbread too. I told him as a child I had been ruined on my mother’s sweet cornbread, which my grandpa and I always ate with a glass of milk like a dessert, and because of it I have never liked plain southern cornbread over biscuits. Well, I’d liked to’ve died sitting there at the table from the way my stomach was feeling and Vincent said he might take his in a box in case I thought I might show my guts there at the table. I told him I would control myself and not to worry, we should just eat there. We spent our time till the food came talking about baseball and smoking laws and crazy preachers and Montana (that Big Sky Country is for lovers) and concrete and midgets and the things that kids will say when you least need them to. The chow was good and it settled my stomach a bit (I kept it down anyway) and we headed back to the job to drop Vince off at his rig. We agreed to try for a baseball game next time there was a home stand and it wasn’t too hot. The rest of the day was a struggle to stay at work, my better instinct being for a quick drive home and into my pajamas and bed for more sleep. I was neither here nor there, neither sick nor well. I was someplace in between worlds where there are no good excuses and there are no bright spots except catfish and biscuits.