David Wanczyk is a tea-addicted, oft-bearded, semi-faltering Catholic from south of Nova Scotia who desperately misses El Sabroso Mexican Restaurant, a dreamy little fajita emporium, formerly of Greenfield, Massachusetts, that he used to haunt with his father on Friday nights in 1994. There, they would discuss Young Mr. Wanczyk's future work—which, they agreed, would occasionally be seen in journals like Bellingham Review, Lake Effect, and New York Quarterly—and they even chatted about his future wife, Megan (though it was a little, I don't know, ooogy or something talking about girls with dad at age 12). Other than that, they probably didn't say much, but maybe just enough for a supper at the end of a long week: some about algebra, some about sister C.J., most about the salsa buffet (El Sabroso [The Tasty!] had three choices, two customers, and a short life). After they ate, Young Mr. Wanczyk, though semi-faltering in his politeness, always said “Thanks, Dad,” and his unfaltering dad always kinda tussled Y.M.W.'s hair in this great way. They'd sit in the reflected gleam of a Corona sign and think, yeah, mostly this is enough: you, me, and the salsa. All-we-can-eat.
