I was riding in a car across Brooklyn and over into Manhattan earlier this morning.
It was overcast and slightly raining. My buddy was driving with the Beastie Boys cranked up. The loud music kept us from having a conversation and I really wanted to catch up with him.
We were weaving in and out of traffic, avoiding stopped cars and traffic lights.
We pulled up in front of the hotel lobby that I was staying at. I leaned over and kissed the erratic driver on the forehead and asked him if he wanted to come in for a cocktail.
He didn’t have time and replied,
“everything is going to be alright. You gotta stop worrying Jumbo…”
I got out of the car and bent over for one final goodbye. My buddy was wiping blood off his forehead asking me if I felt something. I didn’t feel anything, but I noticed I was standing in a huge puddle.
The car drove away and I woke up back in Riverside. I looked up at the clock and it was 1:23am…. 123, an angel number that Jimmy often uses when he tests the mystery of my faith.
Jimmy went to heaven on a Tuesday morning in September, almost twenty-five years ago. He took the time to let me know that everything is going to work out by the time I finally join him.
I’m lucky to have one of my Guardian Angels ease my worries.
That’s how my Wednesday started.
Today is National Eggs Benedict Day. All of my Board of Trade colleagues probably list Broker’s Inn and Ceres as their favorite Eggs Benny.
Where do you Chalkheads go for the best hollandaise sauce smothered over eggs, Canadian bacon and an English muffin?
