On Wednesday, I ate a grilled cheese in a shitty diner in Maryland with Henry.
The diner was super sketch and the extent of its decor was cheap I Love Lucy memorabilia.
Coffee was weak.
Henry got a thimbleful of cole slaw with his burger. Man, what a tease.
It was just us and two ladies behind us, until a group of three men came in on their lunch break from digging ditches or whatever people do for work in rural Maryland, and the one guy said he didn’t like to sit with his back toward the door; at first I thought he said it was from all those years he was in prison and I thought maybe things were going to get interesting, but it turns out he used to WORK in a prison.
Grilled cheese tasted like I made it. (That means it tasted less than basic and probably was made in a toaster then microwaved.) I wonder if it was better or worse than prison grilled cheese. Shoulda asked that guy on my way out.
But I didn’t give a shit about any of this because I was with my one true love, Henry. LOL JK: because I was on my way to see The Cure.