A story forgotten ....

Last week, as I stood waiting for my Ma to arrive at Sea-Tac.

"You know what? I always get the venti coffee. It's too much. I think I'm going grande from now on," I say.

"Hmmm," agrees R. Girl.

"That's right! From now on I'm Grande Bren.... That's fucking Tommy Lasorda!"

And it was!

He heard me announce his presence as he exited the terrorist-forbidden area of the airport.
We locked eyes.
He seemed to say (with his eyes), "I AM fucking Tommy Lasorda."
My eyes said, "I will never forget you."

What was missing?
The goddamned hip-as-shit L.A. Dodgers hat that I had bought weeks before (obstructed, but pictured above) ... AND WORN EVER FUCKING DAY (and now as I type this) EXCEPT FOR THE DAY I AM STARING TOMMY LASORDA IN THE EYES!

Fate, you whore!

"What's the big deal? Did you think you'd be best friends or something?" R. Girl asks.

"No, but he'd have to shake my hand. It's in his contract!" I announce.

"What contract?" she asks.

"His Human Contract!" I say.

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