Some of the simplest of urban traditions were entirely lost on me before I lived in the barracks. Even basic rules of negotiation were mine to learn. That’s how I won the stereo wars. Everyone had a more powerful sound system than my 3 watt boom box. Each guy turned his a bit louder to overcome the rumble of the other guy’s until I could not hear the Turtles any more. So I bought a hotplate and grub. Within minutes of the sizzle of meat, all the sounds ceased because the building cleared out. The aroma of liver and the song “Eleaonor” filled the air.

Later, I gained a roomie. Evenings, his buddies came to fetch him to go “out to coffee”. It was a baffling tradition.

Eventually they invited me. We claimed a booth at Denny’s for hours drinking coffee and laughing at stories and the cartoons I sketched there. That’s where I came up with the idea below after  a beautiful white Spitfire slipped past in the snow. Took me decades to get around to painting it. Meanwhile, I learned that “going out to coffee” had almost nothing to do with the brew we consumed.

Spelling gott worse after four cupps.