Adam will smile when he reads this. He knows it all starts with one of us but he doesn’t yet know with whom. Now he can rule out himself.

Dan and John agreed to meet Peter, Bonnie and me at Julie’s Place in Acton for breakfast at 9 this morning. I’m an obsessively punctual guy and when Peter says, “It’s ten minutes to nine,” we hop into my truck and speed to the plaza. Get there in like three minutes, sit down, steal a fifth chair from a nearby table, watch our waitress pour our steaming coffee, and then tell her our friends will be by shortly.

Julie’s serves good food fast. I call it insta-breakfast, and though there aren’t that many seats, she does a swift and observably profitable business. As the clock ticked nine oh five and our waitress brings our second refill, I think about how Dan and John have a more than casual relationship with time. Dan is always late because, I think, he calculates exactly how long it takes to travel from home to point B, then halves it.

And, John, he flat out refuses to let the clock rule his life. If you agree to meet at nine that can mean anywhere from nine to nine fifty-nine. although I must admit of late he’s been quite punctual. I’m ruminating about all this as the big hand ticks its way down the face of the clock and we’re sipping our third cup of coffee.

Finally, at 9:25, and after we’d surrendered and ordered our breakfast, my pocket vibrates.

It’s a message from Dan. “Wherethefuckareyou? We’re waiting outside. Did you forget us?”

“Outside?” I thought. As in outside the restaurant? I stand up and look through the glass door and there they are standing behind a guy with a blue hat and a woman with white ear muffs, chatting away. Remember, too, it was damn cold this morning.

I push myself away from my porridge, amble over to the door, open it and smile at my two chilly friends.

Dan’s incredulous. “You’re here?” He pauses to make sure he’s not seeing an apparition. “Already inside? I got here ten minutes early, I didn’t see your car, I thought you hadn’t arrived.” By the end of his spiel he’s almost yelling.

Well, no duh. If you thought we were inside warm as can be, you’d a joined us, and I wouldn’t have worried about taking up valuable space without ordering. Now, tell me again why you wouldn’t peer through the door first.

“I didn’t see your car.” Dan shouts.

Well, guess what, you parked right next to it.

Adam will smile when he reads this. He knows it all starts with one of us but he doesn’t yet know with whom. Now he can rule out himself.

Dan and John agreed to meet Peter, Bonnie and me at Julie’s Place in Acton for breakfast at 9 this morning. I’m an obsessively punctual guy and when Peter says, “It’s ten minutes to nine,” we hop into my truck and speed to the plaza. Get there in like three minutes, sit down, steal a fifth chair from a nearby table, watch our waitress pour our steaming coffee, and then tell her our friends will be by shortly.

Julie’s serves good food fast. I call it insta-breakfast, and though there aren’t that many seats, she does a swift and observably profitable business. As the clock ticked nine oh five and our waitress brings our second refill, I think about how Dan and John have a more than casual relationship with time. Dan is always late because, I think, he calculates exactly how long it takes to travel from home to point B, then halves it.

And, John, he flat out refuses to let the clock rule his life. If you agree to meet at nine that can mean anywhere from nine to nine fifty-nine. although I must admit of late he’s been quite punctual. I’m ruminating about all this as the big hand ticks its way down the face of the clock and we’re sipping our third cup of coffee.

Finally, at 9:25, and after we’d surrendered and ordered our breakfast, my pocket vibrates.

It’s a message from Dan. “Wherethefuckareyou? We’re waiting outside. Did you forget us?”

“Outside?” I thought. As in outside the restaurant? I stand up and look through the glass door and there they are standing behind a guy with a blue hat and a woman with white ear muffs, chatting away. Remember, too, it was damn cold this morning.

I push myself away from my porridge, amble over to the door, open it and smile at my two chilly friends.

Dan’s incredulous. “You’re here?” He pauses to make sure he’s not seeing an apparition. “Already inside? I got here ten minutes early, I didn’t see your car, I thought you hadn’t arrived.” By the end of his spiel he’s almost yelling.

Well, no duh. If you thought we were inside warm as can be, you’d a joined us, and I wouldn’t have worried about taking up valuable space without ordering. Now, tell me again why you wouldn’t peer through the door first.

“I didn’t see your car.” Dan shouts.

Well, guess what, you parked right next to it.