Waffle House

I walk into a cloud of smoke. Its 3am. I’m stumbling and I can barely keep my head form spinning. Wondering how the hell I got here. Me and my friends grab the closest empty booth. I try to look at the menu and my eyes cross. It seems like I am holding two very blurry menus. I know what I want so I don’t really know why I am staring at it. The waitress comes across to the table as my head hits the smooth wood of the booth. “Can I get you anything to drink” she asked in a politefull manner. I lift my head and ask for a glass of water. After she finishes taking my friend’s orders I light up a cigarette. Thinking this will slow the Waffle House from spinning. It works momentarily. When I get my water the cool liquid rushing down the back of my throat I feel refreshed for a moment. Before I knew it the waitress was back at the table to get the food orders. I ramble off the same order I always do. It has been hard wired in my brain because for every restaurant that I go to readily I have a favorite dish that I get and stick to. This is never wavering. For this particular establishment it is double hash browns, extra crispy, with tomato, cheese, ham, and jalapeños. As I wait for my food I light up another cigarette. I have no will power when I’m fucked up. When my food comes I eat it with the intensity of a person that has been deprived of food for weeks. The spiciness of the jalapenos wakes me up of this foggy haze of my drunken state or at least good enough to read the ticket as the waitress hands it to me. I give her a five dollar tip on a four dollar meal and walk out the door.