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I was to learn later that the restaurant I chose, Mr and Mrs Bartley’s Burger Cottage, was a beloved Ca assault of weaponized onion smoke and the roar of a crowd Half the city appeared to have shoved itself into the cra to talk over everybody else, including the cooks, ere shouting out their orders like quarterbacks calling signals On the wall above the grill was an enor elaborate descriptions in colored chalk of the ers I had ever heard of: pineapple, blue cheese, fried egg

"Just you?"

Thee, bearded felloearing an apron as stained as a butcher’s I nodded dules at the counter only," he commanded "Grab a stool"

A place had just come free As the waitress behind the counter whisked away the previous occupant’s dirty plate, I slid ainst the base of the counter and took a seat It wasn’t very coe was hidden froan to look it over

"What’ll you have, hon?"

The waitress, a harried-looking older woe T-shirt, stood before er?"

"Lettuce, tomato, onion, pickle, ketchup, mayo, mustard, Swiss, cheddar, provolone, American, what kind of bun, toasted or plain?"

It was like trying to catch bullets frouess"

"You want four different kinds of cheese?" She had yet to lift her eyes froe you extra"

"I didn’t mean that Sorry Just the cheddar Cheddar is fine"

"Toasted or plain?"

"I’m sorry?"