PHO 69

I had lunch with a chain-smoking engineer in a

Vietnamese noodle house in Oklahoma City. 
In a whisper he told me he used to play lead
guitar in a rockabilly band in Los Angeles in the
seventies.  Then his eyes went far away.  And I
could tell he was back there in some forgotten
sunset strip nightclub.  Living a dream long since
abandoned after forty years designing the most
ominous combat airplanes this world has ever
seen.  Then he pushed his bowl of noodles aside
saying food is pretty much a formality these days.
And stepped outside for a cigarette.  I thought
about the name of this place and how it didn’t
translate very well. 
 (similar version published in The Furious Gazelle)