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ton of money managing his Berrylicious Frozen Yogurt franchise, we say good-bye.
    I head to the fridge. Pound down my last beer.
    Around nine, I fall asleep on my lumpy excuse for a sofa watching a movie starring Sylvester Stallone. Or Arnold Schwarzenegger. Maybe Bruce Willis.
    Sometimes Sundays can do this to a guy.
    Make you wonder what the heck you’re doing with your life when you could be pumping Berrylicious Frozen Yogurt into swirl cones and starting a family.
    So I’m very happy when the clock radio goes off at 6 A.M. and Cliff Skeete’s DJ voice booms, “Rise and shine, people. It’s Monday morning. Time to put your nose back to the grindstone.”
    And then, of course, he plays “Manic Monday” by the Bangles.
    Me? I’m glad it’s Monday.
    That means it’s Ceepak time.

6
    I HEAD DOWN TO THE PANCAKE PALACE A LITTLE AFTER NINE .
    When I was a teenager, I used to break dishes and glasses there on a regular basis.
    I was a bus boy.
    The restaurant is pretty crowded, especially for the first week of June. I see mostly locals and a few scattered families. Kids, whose school years ended earlier than everybody else’s, are chowing down on stacks of chocolate chip flapjacks, which are, more or less, ginormous chocolate chip cookies swimming in mapley syrup. (By the way, mapley means it’s not real maple syrup; if you want that, it costs extra.)
    Some grownups go for the “eggs-traordinary omelets,” but most of them seem to be gobbling up Belgian waffles topped with Whipped Cream and strawberries, the New York Cheese Cake Pancake, or the Heart Attack Stack: six pancakes with butter, bacon bits, and sausage crumbles sandwiched in between every layer. It’s like the T-shirt says, “My Diet Gets Two Weeks Off Every Summer, Too.”
    Ceepak is seated in his favorite sunny booth near the front windows. He’ll probably order Bran Flakes topped with whatever fruit is in season this week. I’ll have black coffee and a toasted bran muffin. Yes, Ceepak has even influenced my morning food choices. No more Hostess Sno-Balls or Honey Buns for me.
    There’s a father and son in the booth behind Ceepak. The dad is diddling with his Droid phone. The boy is fiddling with the paper from his milk straw. They look like they haven’t made much eye contact since maybe Christmas morning.
    â€œI need to go outside to make a very important call, Christopher,” the dad says to the boy. “Stay here.”
    â€œYes, Dad.”
    And the father abandons his son.
    Man, the kid looks bored. And sad. Some vacation he’s having.
    Fortunately, Diana Santossio, who’s been waitressing at the Pancake Palace since forever (she used to lead the applause, high-school cafeteria style, whenever I dropped my bus tray), comes over to the table and gives Christopher a small box of crayons.
    â€œHere you go, hon,” she says. “You can draw right on the table cloth.”
    â€œReally?”
    â€œYep. It’s paper. You can even take it home when you’re done eating.”
    â€œCool.”
    â€œHave fun, hon.”
    Donna sashays away while Christopher happily scribbles on the white paper table topper. I slide into the booth across from Ceepak.
    â€œGood morning, Danny. I ordered your coffee. Black, per usual.”
    â€œThanks,” I say, noticing that Ceepak has already organized the sweetener packets in their little filing rack: White, Brown, Blue, Pink, Yellow. I’m also pretty certain the salt and pepper shakers have been inspected, their screw tops found to be properly secured.
    â€œYou have a good weekend?” I ask.
    â€œRoger that. We took my mother over to the mainland. She needed a new toilet bowl brush. Target has an interesting and wide selection.”
    I nod. I’m used to Ceepak’s wild and crazy weekend adventures, especially since his mom moved to town. Of all the good sons in the world, John Ceepak might