HEY, YOU never know what tomorrow will bring, right? But today I can say that I believe in God less than ever, and in a spiritual sort of death-defying, almost-electric connection between human beings more than ever. Just to bring you up to date on my midlife mind-related meanderings.

Another new thing I believe in is Ativan, thanks to a death-defying, almost-pharmacological "connection," whose name I won't mention, except to say, "Thanks, Rebecca!" Judging from the gut-rattling puke-defying dizziness with which I eked my way from the apartment to the cab, and then from the cab to the curb at the airport, compared to the relative ease with which, one little white pill later, I moseyed down the gangplank into the long plastic tube and, drooling all over everything, including my loving wife, left the earth for my first time in, what, five years? ...

Does John Madden know about this?

In North Carolina I ate North Carolina barbecue, but it wasn't as good as usual on account of why I was there. Which brings us to the obituary section of this week's Cheap Eats: my nephew, godson, and good buddy Tom, known in this column as the Bomb, had left the planet more – no, less metaphorically than I did. @!#!!&%@ $%#*%@& &#$%@*& @*$&^(#% #@)!^$)*!!!!!, to put it mildly.

He was a 49ers fan and a Tribe fan, which put him in elite company (me and Joe Montana). He was a writer, an artist, and a good kid. He could skate. He liked to dance. He was 21. Leaves his wife Molly, his dog Chuck, his friend Jay, his other friends, a half-shot and all-the-way written screenplay, a crappy job, butterflies, a car without a muffler, streets, cities, mountains, all the sounds and smells and people in the world, the question about the chicken and the egg, pancakes, and my whole big family. Leaves all of us scratching our heads, shaking our heads, and beating our heads against walls and whatever else is handy. Leaves.

Some of the last things he might have looked at include silos, an old falling-apart two-seater outhouse, a rusted-through fuel tank, trees of course, and railroad tracks. Unfortunately, I don't believe the tracks are in service anymore, or it might have been possible to imagine the sound of a train whistle. I did hear a chicken clucking, though, which was comforting to me, and birds in general.

I was going to try to not mention it, but ... It's like we're eating together, or something. Having lunch here once a week, and I have to talk about what's on my mind, in 825 words. I have this compulsion to tell the truth, even if it means lying through my teeth, like last week with the bedsprings.

The hotel we stayed in didn't have hot water. Got home yesterday craving long, hot baths and big bowls of soup. The latter of which was addressed at Loi's Vietnamese Restaurant in the Sunset. Irving and 24th, across the street from Marnee Thai, where all the other restaurant reviewers in the world were having dinner.

Crawdad and me drowned a lot of sorrow into one big bowl of pho. But it wasn't the normal kind of pho because I didn't see that part of the menu until too late. If I had, I might have ordered bun thang, just for the sound of it, or because the "three kinds of meat" in it are "chicken, ham, egg." Speaking of real big philosophical questions. And, in at least one context, answering them.

But I'd already ordered from the pho thit nuong section of the menu, which is all barbecued meats. I wanted one with Tom's name in it, so I got pho tom bo nuong ($7.25). What they do is they serve you the huge bowl of noodles in the great beefy broth, and the customary plate of jalapeños, sprouts, and basil, but then there's another plate full of grilled shrimps and beefs, juicing onto a big leaf of lettuce.

I'll tell you what, and I don't know which stage of getting over shit this puts me on, according to Kubler-Ross, but I absolutely loved this soup. Which comes first, being able to enjoy a good bowl of soup again, or still wanting to smash things and hug everybody at the same time?

Don't get me wrong, raw meat cooked in hot broth on its way to your table is still a great idea, but so is grilled meats washing down with that same great broth. We also had the grilled pork and imperial rolls over rice noodles ($5.50). That was Crawdad's call, and it was good too, but ... soup is soupier.

Atmosphere: lamplights lining the walls, real nice wooden picnic tables, a colorful dragons kid's show on TV, and a Charlie Chaplin clock with swinging legs.

Loi's Vietnamese Restaurant. 2228 Irving (at 24th Ave.), S.F. (415) 661-5936. Sun.-Tues., Thurs., 11 a.m.-9 p.m.; Fri.-Sat., 11 a.m.-9:30 p.m. Takeout available. No alcohol. Credit cards not accepted. Wheelchair accessible.

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