Quiet hum over sandwiches, jazz. Click of heavy plates and pots; register rings: cashew chicken, wild rice, coarse bread.

Downtown backstreet deli, mid-day mellow. Fine hide-out: out of the way, just enough. Locals all know: everyone is Home here.

Have a seat, smile, slow down. Breathe a while. It’s organic…

Michael Theroux writes from his cubby-hole home office in Northern California. He is presently shifting from decades of developing and publishing science-based socio-political works toward publication of poetry and fiction. Much more satisfying…