After a night out, there's nothing I love more than going out the next morning for breakfast at a diner. I'm a fan of diners in general; there's something soothingly consistent about them. No matter which one it is, I know there will be ketchup bottles and sugar packets on the table, omelettes and pancakes on the menu, and mugs of piping hot black coffee delivered posthaste. If I've walked into there with a hangover, it takes a lot for me to walk out of it uncured.
Tower Diner is the closest one to MH's apartment, and JL met us there after figuring out that we were nearby. Indeed, the coffee was hot and omelettes were on the menu—but unfortunately, the egg white, feta, and spinach version I ordered was much too salty, to the point where I could only eat about half before calling it a day. I suppose I could have sent it back, but I was in a lazy mood and contented myself with eating the home fries and toast with butter and jelly instead. Being in a diner alone was enough to keep me satisfied.