Being a child of the ‘50s I have a few things that are sure to make the world feel right again for a bit. Every now and then I really, really need someone to bring me a hamburger and fries on paper in a red plastic basket, perfectly paired with a chocolate milk shake with the extra left on the table in the metal container it was made in. And… as much ketchup as I want without having to rip open horrible little packets. This is the local eatery, Oscar’s. This is where I go. They don’t have a juke box shaped like a ’55 T-Bird or waitstaff on roller skates like a couple of joints in my old home town. But, Oscar’s is just fine by me. Some days I just need to forget about what’s good for me for a few minutes – turn my back on quinoa and arugula, close my eyes and remember when the worst thing that happened in school was when our own personal Fonz got caught chewing gum and had to wear it on his nose. I’ve been wanting to paint this scene for a long time. This fellow reminded me of my dad – a really wonderful man. Nothing dad liked much better than a frosty root beer float loaded with vanilla ice-cream.