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| - Lawrenceville. Hipster capitol USA. This area produces more beards, hats and casual shoes per capita than the entire gross domestic product of Zimbabwe. Needless to say I continued on. Smoke doesn't really have a sign on their establishment (and if there is one, than holy christ, it's camouflaged better than the Predator during peak hunting season). It's just there. If you aren't paying attention you'll walk right past it and into the cinema next door.
Now I have stumbled upon something amazing. It should be a discovery or some sort of anomaly only seen in some demented parallel universe. I'm not talking about the food. The food was actually pretty good. Friends, I come to you here and now in the year of our Lord two thousand and seventeen to discuss the waiting you will do at this restaurant. Yes, the waiting. In fact, if you are reading this there is an 80% likelihood that you are waiting to be seated at Smoke whilest standing in Industry Public House. Take a moment and let your brain process that. Yes, waiting in Industry to be seated at Smoke. This type of waiting goes beyond anything our civilization has seen. As I stood there I knew I was on a precipice of discovering the next common cliche. They give out noble peace prizes for these types of discoveries, I thought. Like some sort of tear in the fabric of space time, or discovering a new element in the periodic table, or experiencing deja vu in the Matrix. The waiting you do at doctors offices don't hold a candle to this place. It must be some sort of speak easy type of thing that only hipsters in Lawrenceville are privy to. I felt like an outsider having walked up and asked for a table when I should have, in reality, called 6 hours in advance. The brevity of the situation began to sink in. I thought to myself, who was I to have walked with an air of facking nonchalance to this place and asked for a table. 40 minutes turned to an hour, an hour turned to an 1 hour and 20 minutes. Time began to slow down. I witnessed the birth of the universe. It was only a Friday night, not Saturday but Friday. The yuppy crowd was long gone. It's closer now, I thought. Just a little longer, you are almost there. 2 hours passed and nothing. Even as I'm writing this I feel as though a part of me is still there at Smoke. I have to go back and rescue my memory that still lingers there. Dumbledore probably has it in a vile somewhere. Why is the wait time to be seated so long? It's tacos, people. You arent being served a 7 course meal. Are they hammering their own corn in the the back and making tortillas from scratch? That must be it. That's the answer I will give myself so I can sleep tonight.
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