where everybody knows your name
There's an Esso station across the street from me, with a Timmies inside. I get coffee from there a few times a week.
The lady who owns the station squeals with delight whenever she sees Muskoka. She fawns over him, and we laugh and talk about nothing.
It made me think of the people who populate our lives that aren't necessarily friends per se but still infuse our days with merriment. She embodies the persona of the town mayor, the therapist, or the bartender of the neighborhood. She knows everyone, and everyone has their own inside jokes and particular chit-chat with her.
I stand in line and watch her interact with all these characters, and then realize I'm also one of those characters who make up her day. Oh, the delicate puzzle-fit of life.
