2004-09-24 - 7:16 p.m.
So.
Tonight we went to the Mexican restaurant in this little town, and it wasn't bad. The margarita wasn't quite as frozen as it could have been, but its sheer strength made up for that.
The Mexican place is actually in the old Captain D's building. My grandparents drove up to Captain D's every single Saturday, and then went to the Walmart behind it. The people who worked at D's would see them come in the door (my lumbering grandmother in her checked housedress upscaled with a cardigan and pin, my dragging grandfather in his perfectly pressed gray pants and blue collared shirt), call out happily, and stack up a tray with their food. They never ordered. It was always ready. I loved the greasy smell of the building, the thick knotted ropes that served as decor, the giant plaster marlin hanging on the wall.
Now the walls are chunked over with plaster and cheap paintings of Mexican landscapes and the Walmart is abandoned. Gramma and Grandpa are dead, and the blue 1984 Dodge Aries they drove was destroyed by my brother. I still won't eat fried okra.
