Turner's Diner, Tire, and Lube
Where they’ve burned the ‘No Smoking’ signs, but never the toast
Bill Evans has taken to stealing radiators for liquor money
A cathead biscuit smothered in hot gravy and the company of strangers like us can make waking up in the morning almost tolerable
It’s 7:43 AM. Merle is on the radio making empty promises. “Someday when things are good / I’m going to leave you,” he sings. But we know better. I am sitting in a corner booth, surrounded by the rising tufts of Marlboros, and still trying to wake up good. Coffee stouter than napalm is dripping, slow and thick, into a pot purchased when Bill Clinton was still attorney general of our fair state. Breakfast is on its way. It’s the only reason I got out of bed before the sun had a chance to warp my feet. I am not a morning person. If the Good Lord had intended for me to see the sun rise, he would have scheduled that for the middle of the day. I rise early because I ought to, sometimes because I have to, but never because I want to. I can’t recall one good thing in my life ever happening before noon. It’s never good news when the phone rings at 5 AM. It’s either people in the hospital, folks dead or dying, or some fool from Indonesia overly concerned about the warranty on my pickup. …
