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| - People who like restaurants talk about the "atmosphere," by which they mean elegant carpets and pretty windows and smartly-dressed waiters.
But there is another type of atmosphere: steel grates on the door, ready to be locked, a counter grimed with a fine patina of cigarettes and spilled coffee, Xeroxed notes taped to the fridge that tell the customers they'll be tossed out if they're too much trouble. A menu on a chalkboard that hasn't changed in the better part of a decade. A beefy guy slapping dogs on a grill, debating with his friends in between sizzles, asking you gruffly, "Whaddayou want?" - not meanly, but hey, you're here to eat, he wants to serve you, he's got other customers.
That's REAL atmosphere, buddy. To hell with your fancy-shmancy tablecloths; gimme real grease and real bread and a real grill.
This place is alive, and will fill up your belly for the price of what you can scrape out of your car's change dish at one in the morning after you left your wallet behind at the bar, I think, I dunno man, it's a good night, let's get some damned eggs.
They have a grilled cheese sandwich for three bucks with real crispy bacon, and melted cheese, and God lemme tellya for all of its froo-froo avocado-and-dried-tomato grilled cheese goodness, Melt can go jump out of a window. This is the real grilled cheese deal. It's diner food, a small menu, but after a night chugging beers and socializing with friends you can come here and sit on the damn stools and feel like yeah, this is life. It's good. Gimme a Pepsi.
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