When the waitress delivered my eggs, there was a small chocolate heart on the plate. I'd been camped on the beach, but non-stop rains had forced me to find breakfast in Orick, Calif., a town of about 350 people.
Next to me, an old man in a black cowboy hat sat down.
"Janice said I could order breakfast, Ma."
"Biscuits with gravy," the waitress shouted back.
"Two?" asked the cook.
"He can eat three."
"I know he can."
"Thanks, Ma."
His plate also arrived with a chocolate heart.
"What's this?"
"It's a heart. For Valentines Day."
"Didn't know it was."
"Liar."
"That's the truth, Ma. I've never celebrated it."
"Everyone knows when Valentines Day is."
"I don't."
"What day is Christmas?"
"December 25. Everyone knows that."
"So how come you don't know Valentines Day?"
"I never have."
"I don't believe you."
"It's the truth, Ma."
