I realized I didn't talk about the food at Cheyenne Diner. The food is okay. The bacon was fried satisyingly hard, the white toast was juicy from all the butter dabbed on to it and the eggs were runny the way I like them. The potatoes were average, but I don't always go to a diner for the food, I go there because of the atmosphere. I never feel self conscious eating alone at the bar in a diner. You're supposed to pretend you're in Hopper's Nighthawks, and I love that. You're allowed to feel a little melancholy as you stir your third coffee refill, but then, it's a place to make those little observations about life that you might miss during the busy work week. How did that fry cook pile a huge mountain of onions onto such a small plate? Why are those parents letting their kid eat the free butter mints when he didn't finish his breakfast? What did the old gent say was the reason he only comes to the diner on the weekend? When you're in a diner, time seems to slow down. And in this crazy fast world, that's a good thing in my book.
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