Comments on: The Spot Restaurant in Cleveland TN http://bookfool.com/blog/2009/12/03/the-spot-restaurant-in-cleveland-tn/ Books, Entrepreneurship, and General Foolery Tue, 27 Jul 2010 23:14:14 +0000 hourly 1 By: Kris http://bookfool.com/blog/2009/12/03/the-spot-restaurant-in-cleveland-tn/comment-page-1/#comment-854 Kris Wed, 09 Dec 2009 03:03:10 +0000 http://bookfool.com/?p=1917#comment-854 Wow. Its strange what comes out of life's randomness and what will impact us the most. Life on! Kris L. Wow. Its strange what comes out of life’s randomness and what will impact us the most.

Life on! Kris L.

]]> By: Luke http://bookfool.com/blog/2009/12/03/the-spot-restaurant-in-cleveland-tn/comment-page-1/#comment-846 Luke Fri, 04 Dec 2009 20:04:50 +0000 http://bookfool.com/?p=1917#comment-846 Wow! Thanks for sharing, Ben. Wow! Thanks for sharing, Ben.

]]> By: Ben-Chard http://bookfool.com/blog/2009/12/03/the-spot-restaurant-in-cleveland-tn/comment-page-1/#comment-845 Ben-Chard Thu, 03 Dec 2009 22:16:35 +0000 http://bookfool.com/?p=1917#comment-845 Once, while in exile in Cleveland, I had an experience that was both imminent and transcendent at the Spot, thus it is ubiquitous in my mind. I looked like this back then (<a href="http://www.rad-dudes.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/01/awesome_dude2.jpg" target="_blank" rel="nofollow">http://www.rad-dudes.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/01/awesome_dude2.jpg</a>), and the reasons for my societal exile are unnecessary. I casually sat down on the Spot's red padded swivel chairs, gnawing on a tooth pick. An older, fellow patron down the bar sat rapping his knuckles in an erratic manner; surely the rhythm of an old irish Bodhran tune. You could smoke in the restaurants back then, so I slid down a few, asking for a light. The potassium chlorate smell of his match head snaked into my nostrils before the words had left my larynx. I leaned through the whisp and lit my cigarette, the end glowing like flickers in a forrest. I looked him in the eyes and said 'thank you.' He stared back, and with his pupils like the end of icicles, uttered: "ok." He continued to speak. "Have you ever loved anybody?" I thought really, really hard on this, and I felt perfectly confident in saying, "no." He proceeded to tell me a beautiful, harrowing story about two people in love. They were often seen sharing Frosty's at the Spot, and would drive around with the top down, tires rubber on the road, the thrill of healing whipping through their hair. They were as safe as each other's heart. One day though, out on a country drive, their car took a mysterious dive off of a rocky cliff. Both perished. Now, the town's rumor mill was in full force: surely they were doing lewd and promiscuous things, because everyone knew that he was the slickest driver in all of _____ county. Well, they weren't. They were only holding hands as the road undulated back and forth capriciously. They were simply the victims of bad luck. "And that's love, man," the old timer said. I knew then and there I couldn't be without that in my life. I was part and I needed my parcel. I walked out into the brisk air. I decided instantly to marry the next girl I had the jitters for. A moment of catharthis to be certain (Or was it simply pathos and absurdity? I don't know). i was married within 6 months and am still with her to this day. And I can honestly say that if something was to happen to her, I would probably be the old guy in the diner, telling young, sordid, misguided adventures a story of tragic love. Once, while in exile in Cleveland, I had an experience that was both imminent and transcendent at the Spot, thus it is ubiquitous in my mind.

I looked like this back then (http://www.rad-dudes.com/wp-content/uploads/2009/01/awesome_dude2.jpg), and the reasons for my societal exile are unnecessary. I casually sat down on the Spot’s red padded swivel chairs, gnawing on a tooth pick. An older, fellow patron down the bar sat rapping his knuckles in an erratic manner; surely the rhythm of an old irish Bodhran tune.

You could smoke in the restaurants back then, so I slid down a few, asking for a light. The potassium chlorate smell of his match head snaked into my nostrils before the words had left my larynx. I leaned through the whisp and lit my cigarette, the end glowing like flickers in a forrest. I looked him in the eyes and said ‘thank you.’ He stared back, and with his pupils like the end of icicles, uttered: “ok.”

He continued to speak.

“Have you ever loved anybody?”

I thought really, really hard on this, and I felt perfectly confident in saying, “no.”

He proceeded to tell me a beautiful, harrowing story about two people in love. They were often seen sharing Frosty’s at the Spot, and would drive around with the top down, tires rubber on the road, the thrill of healing whipping through their hair.

They were as safe as each other’s heart. One day though, out on a country drive, their car took a mysterious dive off of a rocky cliff. Both perished. Now, the town’s rumor mill was in full force: surely they were doing lewd and promiscuous things, because everyone knew that he was the slickest driver in all of _____ county. Well, they weren’t. They were only holding hands as the road undulated back and forth capriciously. They were simply the victims of bad luck.

“And that’s love, man,” the old timer said.

I knew then and there I couldn’t be without that in my life. I was part and I needed my parcel.

I walked out into the brisk air. I decided instantly to marry the next girl I had the jitters for. A moment of catharthis to be certain (Or was it simply pathos and absurdity? I don’t know).

i was married within 6 months and am still with her to this day. And I can honestly say that if something was to happen to her, I would probably be the old guy in the diner, telling young, sordid, misguided adventures a story of tragic love.

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