Lunch

A couple weekends ago, I took a Friday off to enjoy a late Thursday night with my friends, and then sleep in but be able to make it to te Nevada campus early for that afternoon's football game. Relishing the chance to eat in Reno for once, I decided to go to the Nugget in downtown Reno and there to partake in the Awful-Awful, a gloriously indulgent burger at a cheap (but increasing) price. I invited a couple friends, but one had to leave town for a family emergency.

I parked at the north end of downtown in a free parking garage, several levels up because Street Vibrations, a motorcycle love-fest for Harleys with big exhaust pipes, was in town. I walked to the restaurant, and promptly got in line, where I inched forward over the course of ten minutes or so. I kept an alert eye for my other friend, but not seeing him took a seat at the counter near the register once I placed my order.

I sat next to a man, whose name I think was Mike. He seemed like a friendly fellow, and the Nugget attracts all sorts of people with it's beef-and-fried potato siren's song. He showed off a ring he had that he claimed someone had given him the night before just for watching her things while she had to step away for a moment. He was almost fascinated that it rotated around his finger when he twisted it. He let just about everyone at the register know that the Awful-Awful was so large, no one could finish it. And he had the hands and particular sour smell of a man living on the streets.

We talked a bit, as he ate his food and I ate mine. I silently prayed when I got a quiet moment, asking God to let me know how I could "be Christ" to this man. He never said that he lived on the streets, though he alluded it it a couple of times. And when he suddenly shook my hand and said "I need to be serious with you, as a friend," I knew where the conversation was going to head. He said he needed it for his wife, who was diabetic and couldn't eat the same food that we were having in the diner, so she was just waiting outside. He promised he could double whatever I gave him, and be back with it in an hour. I had brought some extra for food inside the stadium once I was at the game, but was quite full from the Awful-Awful and fries (which I never did finish).

So I parted ways with twin images of President Lincoln, assuring him that I did not want him to come back with more - indeed, that I would not be here to accept it even if he came back. He offered me his ring, $75 he said. "No - just take it." He stepped out for a minute, purportedly to give it to his wife. I watched his jacket, which he left on the seat. He returned, and we resumed talking about how twenty or so potatoes must go into the fries for a single burger.

Shortly, he left. I finished as many fries as I could, and so did I.