It was this dive on 38th Street . This squat Hispanic man ran the place. Can't remember his name, but his eyes were as bright as gold doubloons. Always wore sandals too, a tropical shirt with toucans on it. Real colorful. And he smelled like cigars and chocolate. Couldn't fry an egg to save his life, but I tell you the man could make a cup of coffee. Every morning we'd head over there before heading to the plant. Hola, he'd say, which was all I could understand. But his Joe? Oh, mama. If you ever get down there, tell him Dan-O says hi. |
