Best Stop for Breakfast During a Walk of Shame Home - 2001
Those first peculiar moments in the morning are best examined through blurred vision. Where am I? Who is that? Does the general citizenry misplace its underpants, too? Such are the communiqués of a hangover. The perils of four scotch-and-sodas (universal euphemism for "lobotomy") the night before. Mortification is likely pending, so it's advisable to seek fortitude through grease. Tramps and 'hos recommend the LA BONBONNIERE diner. Order two buttery egg-and-cheese sandwiches with crisp, salty, skinny fries on the side and be liberal with the ketchup. The triple ententeorange juice, espresso, and watergoes unsaid. This is nursery food for the shamed, but the clientele is comforting somehow. Girls in their boyfriends' sweatshirts skim the Times while a tennis, anyone-ish couple, two tanned guys in their forties, probable ascot-wearers both, plan their Saturday next to a woman in flip-flops who licks syrup off her fingers when she thinks nobody's looking.