A keen eye for detail

The ability to notice, to actively observe and mentally record things in one's life is one of the most important traits a writer can possess.

So you can probably imagine how great it felt when I was out for a walk the other night and suddenly realized that an entire building that used to stand on a major intersection near me had vanished into rubble.

I've been taking a lot of walks lately, and had probably passed the missing building four or five times in just a few days.

The pile of bricks behind a chain-link fence was the former home of the somewhat crappy Lighthouse Diner, which if nothing else served for a time as the only 24-hour eatery in the neighborhood. It was not infrequently filled with transients and neighborhood crazies and always seemed to be right on the verge of spinning off into chaos. I tended to go there in the middle of the night, when the drunken remnants of the local bars would also be pushing themselves in for some pancakes or a hamburger, unwilling or unable to simply go home and let the night end.

I frequently ordered egg sandwiches, if only to marvel at how they never prepared a sandwich even remotely resembling any of the previous egg sandwiches I had had there. Each one was indifferently crafted from a new concept of an egg sandwich by the artists behind the counter. They were like snowflakes.

I once read an entire Nick Hornby book while sitting at the counter in the middle of the night drinking their coffee. I, too, was unwilling or unable to simply go home.

I moved to Colorado, waited two years, moved back. Shortly after my return I wandered ravenous to their door in the small hours to fuel a marathon work session. To my chagrin, I discovered that the Lighthouse now closed at 8pm most nights. I never found myself there again.

So, goodbye, Lighthouse. I'm sorry I stopped coming by.

And I'm sorry I failed to notice that your building was gone.