Tony has an alarm that goes off every Saturday morning reminding us to go eat pitas. Much of our lives are lived on a whim but Saturday morning pitas became, for whatever strange reason, a habit.
During the warmer months we drive out to a little shop near the river and watch boats and airplanes over the river while we ate. During the cooler months we would drive to a slightly larger shop with indoor seating. The employees at each location seemed to know when to expect us, and we knew what to expect from them.
This week, with the onset of cooler weather, we made the trek out to our indoor pita shop only to discover it was closed. “Operating hours: M-F” said the door.
I would have said good-bye if I had known.
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