Hollywood Cemetery in the Hot, Hot Heat

The Richmond restaurant world is almost as incestuous as its musical world; you're likely to see a member of either group at another place or in another configuration somewhere.

So it was that on walking into Perly's today that the waitress eating at the end of the bar looks up and says, "Hi, Karen."

It's not that I go in Perly's often, because I don't, but I actually know the waitress from the Belvidere.

Later as I'm leaving, I hear a voice from the corner table, "Hey, Karen!"

It's a fellow Census worker and waitress from Tarrant's. It's 11:45 in the morning and the familiar faces are everywhere.

I ordered a turkey sandwich because their menu said that they roast their own turkey (I asked to verify), but it can't compare to the turkey sandwich at Comfort, which I had just last week.

Ideally, I want big, irregularly-shaped chucks of turkey to mimic a day-after-Thanksgiving Day turkey sandwich; Comfort gives me that, but Perly's doesn't.

Still, it's a perfectly fine turkey sandwich, with chips on the side, another post-Turkey Day requirement. I'm satisfied.

I am having lunch with my long-time friend from Williamsburg, here, and it's good hearing his stories after so long; he was in radio forever so he has a Voice with a capital V.

We couldn't be more opposed politically, but we have plenty to talk about without that (and I do try to avoid it).

And in all the years I've had lunch with him, I've never seen him eat anything except either eggs and sausage or a hamburger with fries and mayo.

He's an odd one, but unusual in a fascinating sort of way. He calls himself "the last of his kind" which may very well be true for a host of reasons.

Afterwards we went to Hollywood Cemetery, a favorite place of his and one he hadn't visited in several years.

Because of the heat and his health, we drove it rather than walked it, parking periodically under a shady tree to roll down the windows, admire the view and chat.

We could see all the people sunning themselves on the rocks and enjoying the water at Belle Isle.

I wouldn't be at all surprised to learn that at least a few of them were restaurant workers I know, but it was too hot to walk over there and find out.

And no one was shouting, "Hey Karen" from across the river.

So the last of his kind and I stayed in the shade, amongst the past, talking about the present and hoping the best for the future.