The restaurant looks like an irradiated Soviet diner rapidly abandoned during the Chernobyl disaster. The parking lot is a lake of pigeon droppings and broken beer bottles. Most of the booths are in various stages of disrepair. At least two were being used for storage. One for obviously unused mops and brooms, another for those gray plastic child booster seats I once saw at a Big Boy's in the 1980s. The staff are surly, which normally never bothers me because I go to restaurants to eat, not to make friends. But here, the staff are so indifferent as to be hostile. And they guard napkins as if they were gold. Perhaps they're worried customers might start wiping down tables--God only knows what might get uncovered. I ordered a carne asada burrito, which turned out to be a tepid mound of what looked like wet dog food wadded up in a stale tortilla accompanied by a grayish paste and one or two small pieces of unripe tomato. My companion had the fish tacos, basically two tortillas topped with balls of batter cooked in rancid oil and topped with what might have been iceberg lettuce and some kind of thin white liquid. The chips were free, but to get them, I had to flag down then supplicate one of the aggressively inattentive workers. The salsa options were watery red or watery green--both insipid. They also provide free lemons. Which is good if you like lemons.