The first time I went to the Gold Spike, there were five of us. We sat at the round table in the back, beneath the glass eyes of stuffed animal heads. There was the plastic red-and-white checked tablecloth, the dollar bills pinned to the ceiling so long they had turned black, the sound of voices coming from the kitchen. We drank much Chianti and savored the minestrone soup -- "Just like home food!" we exclaimed as we held our spoons.
We talked about our futures, what we hoped would come next.
I remember thinking, I will move to this city.
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