Waffle House

There's something special about sitting in a waffle house alone on a Wednesday at 11 PM.

Nobody knows you.

Nobody cares.

People are nice here.

Nice enough.

Nicer than most in this big cruel world.

They pretend to be neighbors even if it's for a fleeting moment in the night.

And in this moment they might as well be; together outside the lines of the noise and the facade.

It's an earnest slice of a sight unseen.

Devoid of politics, fancy things, fancy frilly tastes; an over-air conditioned piece of American paradise.

Waffles and bottomless black coffee.

"Do you want pecans added in that waffle for a quarter?"

"You bet."

The waitress smiles.

She doesn't eat here, but she works here anyways.

To live. To get away from all the facade.