Breakfast at Tiffany’s

Perhaps it's the dark paneling that's been around for decades or the moody ambiance of the place. (Lord knows I pick places faster on ambiance than quality of food.) But stepping through the door is like being transported back in time to a bygone era where one could just as easily imagine the patrons with bushy sideburns, a shiny Caprice in the parking lot, and a thick haze of smoke hanging in the air. (Gosh, I sometimes really miss that aroma when people could smoke anywhere.)

The waitstaff still calls me, "Hon," and while I don't doubt the innocence of the moniker, I never fail to appreciate it about as much as being slapped open-handed in the small of the back by some stranger named Derek.

I suppose there's worse things in life...

But it's food. Often good food, at that. But even if it wasn't, I think I'd still come just for the vibes.

And I said, "What about Breakfast at Tiffany's?"
She said, "I think I remember that film place and
As I recall, I think we both kinda liked it"
And I said, "Well, that's the one thing we've got"

I bloody hate that song.