Tuesday, April 01, 2008


“What I Imagine Mornings in Knoxville, Tennessee To Be Like.”

The diner situates itself between the oldest eyesore in town and the customs building where our grandfathers got shot. The agreed upon rent is paid for in valley glue that’s been excreted out of hungry stomachs. The glue is then refined in a factory ten miles northeast of here in Strawberry Plains every twenty-five minutes. Waitresses in civvies serve breakfast all day. At the end of their shift, the waitresses count up their tips and watch cable news with the sound off. The walls are adorned with University of Tennessee sports memorabilia. There’re replica jerseys from the golden (though slightly orange) age of Volunteer athletics. There’re orange pompoms and orange sponsor ads. A row of orange aluminum seating lines the back wall. First-borns have been baptized in holy water dyed with orange food coloring.. Every Monday the staff eats their breakfast together. Afterwards the two waitresses will pick on the busboy by giving him detailed descriptions of childbirth.

[1st draft. fr notebook.]

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