ordering off the menu
I like the way Miller did it, the boy who wore a police uniform to a music festival
in the middle of the Berkshires, who ignored the fashion status quo of concert t-shirts
and cargo shorts and opted, instead, for a set of play handcuffs at his belt, a miniature baton,
a trio of patches emblazoned on a dark blue shirt buttoned all the way to the top.
After we met, he pulled a series of violation notices from his pockets, said this one
was for parking in a tow zone at the airport, and this one was for peeing in someone's doorway
when you were drunk. Nearby, a famous band was about to take the stage. A waft of concert-goers
holding plastic cups of beer made a beeline for the field. We stood, Miller and I, at the outskirts,
and I thought of all the quiet and not-so-quiet courage it takes to sit at the counter
that is your life and ask for what you want, no matter how rich or how sweet.