The Habit

The best hamburger place in LA. I eat at the Woodland Hills place four or five times a week. Always the same thing. Double charburger with cheese, protein style. I’ve also fallen into the habit (nice segue) of eating breakfast on my way to work at the local Dennys. I’ve only been going in for two weeks now, but I am already a regular. They don’t know my name yet, and I don’t know any of theirs, but they know what I like to eat. I don’t have to order at all. I just smile when I come in, find a seat, and five minutes later there’s my Grand Slam, two eggs over medium, all bacon (soft, not crispy) and a large Diet Coke (which they keep filled and transfer to a to-go-cup when I go to pay at the counter). It’s comforting…small townish… and kinda scary. I’ve started to notice the other regulars. The guy who sits at the counter drinking one Iced Tea after another (he comes in every day and stays, I’m told, for HOURS). The enormous fat guy with a weeks worth of newspapers to read EVERYDAY. He uses a cane and has the look of a hardcore sci fi fan. Also video geek. Odds are he has tapes of everything Heather Locklear has EVER done. The big table of school bus drivers. There are more. They all seem sad to me… until I realize I am one of them. Then I wonder what they are thinking about me (“Look at that judgmental jerk over there… looking at me like I’m some kind of loser. Is that a nose on his face or is he eating somebody’s arm?”) The fun people are the illicit lovers who come in from the dive motel next door. I love eavesdropping on their conversations.
Who said TV writers don’t lead glamorous lives? Okay, now I am officially rambling.

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