I imagine one of most pleasurable experiences existing in nature is a rabbit returning to its burrow. Then again, I wouldn’t know. I’m back in the halfwheel bunker noshing pizza. “The halfwheel bunker,” a structure that defies description. It’s black, it’s a box, limned with the slimmest silver– the architect had to be a nihilist. I’ll admit myself that when the guys were on the floor this morning covering their first booths of the 2022 PCA Convention and Trade Show, I snuck in a little Chekov.
Anyway, it bears saying that the lunch lull doesn’t typically occur during the trade show. One might use the banal term “working lunch” to describe the mealtime proceedings in the booth. No multiple-martini drag-outs, no elaborate course offerings, no lengthy gossip. It is utilitarian dining, focussed munching, where the brain works harder than the mouth. I sympathize with Mr. Minato, Mr. Whittington, Mr. Lagreid, and Mr. Burt. They work hard. I merely tidy up the textual tonnage.
Things at the PCA seem busy this year, Brooks says. Our booth sure will be. Despite its aesthetic flaws, I trust the post-and-lintel will provide another veritable Santa-shop of cigar content. Everyone got what they wished for last year. Maybe they will this year, too.
Until tomorrow,
Kyle