Sitting in Crazy Daisy tonight (It’s 4:30 and dark outside), I’m doing my best to not feel guilty about taking up a table while they’re busy. The waitresses and bartenders here are definitely prettier than the guys over at Roma, but they have mastered the apathetic surliness that is the curse of help staff everywhere. I count it as a small victory that I won a smile out of my waitress tonight.

At the row of tables down the middle of the restaurant a large party is gathering, and in their number is the Anti-Jerry. I spotted him right away. He glanced my direction but did not understand what we each represented, because as the Anti-Jerry he is ignorant of the deeper meanings of things. Clean-cut with a hint of the rascal, wearing a suit with style, polite and attentive, confident and easy-going. They made space for him in the middle of the table. The woman on his left is making no secrets about who she wants to be with tonight. The Anti-Jerry.

Still, it’s good to meet your anti-you every once in a while. It’s like looking in a reverse mirror. When I see the Anti-Jerry I see all the things I’m not that I wish I was, but I also see the things he’s not, that I’m glad I am. And if the waitresses don’t smile at him either, well then. I’ll just wait to meet the anti-waitress.

Just now the sound of glass shattering came from behind the bar, and I thought of Rose.