Old Haunts

I love the Bad Waitress. Just love it.

I love the giant floor to ceiling windows, the superhero/monster cards, the bright red walls, the retro light fixtures and living room relics, the formica table sets, the big leather booths, the giant glasses of wine, the food, the malts, the people, the view, the works.

Right now I'm looking out the window at a snow covered row of newspaper machines, with headlines reading "It's not over" in ridiculously enormous type accompanied by pictures of Minnesotans armed with shovels, listening to a regular customer who has awakened from his nap at the counter and is now loudly musing about where they put all the snow once it's hit the ground, and munching on a garden burger and salad that are delicious, but admittedly overpriced. There's a couple in front of me sitting on the same side of a table and touching each other inappropriately, making out almost furiously. I could do without that, I suppose.

It's been awhile since I've been here by myself, just sitting. Stupid piece of crap computer. Stupid CompUSA.

There should be more snow days.