I’m eating my cheap omelet in a diner where “with cheese” means a pale yellow square of American slapped on top. I can still see the wrinkles pressed into the “cheese” from the recently removed cellophane wrapper.
Eddie Rabbit’s “I Love a Rainy Night” rattles quietly above from crackling, overworked speakers.
The too-friendly waitress buzzes, smiling, from table to booth, flaming red fingernails highlighting all the yellow-gold rings on each hand.
Next to me four white-haired, gravel-voiced older men in work clothes loudly discuss old cars, old girlfriends, and how the government should be doing more to protect “intersex people.”
I love this town.