I'm out on my bike, somewhere on the road near Grosvenor, enjoying a Saturday ride, the phone rings. It's J., waiter at Bistro L. Hmm, I think, must have some little question, so I call him right back. "Hey, can you help us out? L. is having her baby and M. (the busboy) has to go." Well, long story. Okay. I pedal back to town, chew down a hamburger I cooked the night before, shower, shave, get on the bike and go in.

Next day, I'm so sore, I can hardly move. All the plates we had to run, up and down, up and down. Epsom salt bath at the end of the night, tired, but can't sleep before 6 AM, back to work on Sunday, getting up at 2, even taking a nap before dragging my carcass off.

The cycle starts all over again. Kill Bill II was on last night.