I have a friend named John White. He's a Scotsman in his fifties now living in Wilkinsburg.
"Let's all go around the table, and tell everyone about the best thing that happened today," he says, unfailingly, every single time I see him. I see him often. He lives three blocks away from my best friend, Justin. He believes in this daily ritual so much that he has proposed a religion based on it. The Church of John White, held in an abandoned church, with weed and cheap beer and nostalgia, is an idea we revisit as often as our good days. It'll probably happen.
I am lucky enough to come up with something easily every day.
