If you want to go back to 1973, to a time where talking was communication or just silence. Where blue-collared workers had dirty, strong hands. Where waitresses were older and sexy with that June Carter kind of sweetness but strong. Where there is a vinyl store playing Van Morrison two doors down with a carpet. And where there's nothing fancy about eggs and bacon.
If you want to come to a place where the counters are lacquered wood. And the cups are a true 8oz pour, come in on a Monday or Tuesday, early or around 11. And talk to the older man next to you that asked for "enough butter to give him a heart attack". And talk about his past loves.
It was almost strange for me to pay with a credit card.
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