Once there were tons of diners.
In those early days of learning to raise myself, these diners were breakfast, lunch and dinner.
- They were the kitchen I didn't know how to cook in.
- They were dining room I knew how to sit in.
- They were the counters where I drank coffee all night and made friends over cigarettes.
- They were the quiet corners I wrote awful poetry and promising books.
- They were the theater of neighbors' doings and the place of street-life commerce.
- They were conference rooms when art needed to be discussed and plans needed to be made.
And more important than not, they were often where I began journeys toward love, wooing and being wooed over soup and easy eggs, sometimes in deep night, sometimes in mornings after.
The University Diner was one such place.
They close Wednesday.
So I thank you, University Diner for the many meetings taken in the window booths, the breakfast specials when the blues descended and home fries were necessary, the 2:00 am tea at the counter where I learned how I mistook lies for love, and a Thanksgiving dinner, resplendent with canned cranberry sauce and pearl necklaces, a dinner so warm and welcoming, it felt more like home than any holiday/family dinner I had ever had before.