There is this hotel about an hour south of me in West Virginia with a diner attached. The diner serves the most amazing buckwheat cakes in the world; if you can look pass the fact that they bought their coffee mugs from a prison sale.
If you go on a Sunday they have Gospel karaoke. Its super awkward though, because chances are everyone else there will be singing to the tune as you pick at your late breakfast, eyes completely averted, watering with repressed laughter and fear.
The beards on men in that place are superb. Think belly-button long, tangled, and salt and pepper, sometimes a yellowy-white. I would take a picture of the place, but I would be afraid to get shot.
The service is sort of slow and you eat on card tables. There are a few booths, but I’ve never sat at one because I’m not from that town and that goes against the grain of etiquette in places like that. You get about three buckwheat cakes in and you feel as if you’ve gained ten pounds. You can’t eat for the rest of the day because there’s a quality to that flour that makes everything sit like a rock in your stomach.
I should go there soon. I always stick out like a sore thumb.
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