I’ve never been in this one before. I just stopped off the highway for a quick bite on my way home from Atlanta. Sipping on my coffee, munching on my eggs scrambled and hash browns, listening to the waitresses call orders and the cooks serve them up, I read my book in peace. I know that none of these places have ever made me feel uncomfortable. The waitstaff is not too aggressive, the food is always good, the bathrooms clean. They really don’t care how late you stay or what you order or tip or what you do. They’re content to leave you to your own devices. Atlanta is a big, crowded, multi-cultural city, and with all the little enclaves, this is a refuge for everyone. It’s the only place I’m used to seeing two sharp-dressed business men come in with their computers to talk shop over coffee, a table down from an Hispanic family of five, the little kids drowning their blueberry waffles in syrup. It’s a great equalizer, and it hasn’t changed much with the times.
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