I caught a cab to the airport

I caught a cab to the airport, yesterday morning. The driver had blonde dreadlocks, and he was listening to early Beatles music — stuff that might have been released before he was born. Through the exigencies of the long distance digital pipeline, I fished this one out of the virtual mailbag:
>ok, this is fyi because I’m really impressed. This is maybe the
>third year I’ve ordered stuff from you but
>I never realized how good you were.
That works. So does a place called “Cattleman’s.” It’s ranch, it’s stockyard, it’s a restaurant. My Aries hostess [“Make that a double!”] recommended the “cowboy” two pound T-bone. I almost picked up the perfect gift for Mother’s Day, but I resisted the urge, in the gift shop next door, a T-shirt that read, “Vegetarian: Indian word for lousy hunter.”