Table Manners

It's been a while since I've had contact with Matty, my personal biographer. It all happened when we were eating at Mads, my Norwegian companion's, McDonald's. We were discussing the cease and desist order McDonald's sent him because his franchise was hurting the overall image of the chain.

"So," Matty said, "do you think he'll really close this?"

"It's Mads. Of course not."

"Really, dude? You're doing that?"

"Doing what?"

"You're napkin in your lap? You're at a fucking McDonald's for Christ's Sake."

"First off, I'm not sure what business it is of Christ's how I keep my napkin. And second, I apologize if I feel the need to maintain a modicum of decorum in my everyday life."

"That's right, because you're so much better."

I threw the table over in front of us in a fit of anger.

"That's right, mister, I am so much better. And you better recognize."

"Have fun with your fois gras. I'm outro."

And that was the last I'd heard from him, until three weeks ago, when I bumped into him at a club in Boston called The Liquor Store. His buddy had gotten a limo, and Matty was fairly inebriated on TNTs.

"I'm sorry for the whole table throwing thing."

"I'm sorry for the whole table manners thing."

"Friends?"

"Friends."