Andrew: Wimpy Bars! I am reeling from the Proustian flashbacks your post
inspired.
You forgot some of the details, though: The greasy, dirty tables with
ketchup spills apparently baked on to the surface; the drifts of cigarette
butts where floor meets wall; the surly, spotty, gum-snapping teenage girl
who flings the wimpyburger at you then, when you attempt to pay, says “I
ain’t got no change,” in tones that suggest it is your fault; the crazy
street person at the next table, muttering to himself about the evils of the
Common Market; the adulterous couple sitting as far from the street window
as they can get, interrupting their whispering to steal furtive glances
around…
Ah, good times!