two eggs, bacon, toast—little containers of grape jelly
world weary waitresses; some friendly
some indifferent just trying to get through the day
short order cooks on the run from the law
a room full of the usual suspects none beyond reproach
rundown gas stations with shady mechanics
smiley people with free orange juice and something to sell you
timeshares real estate other regrettable investments
seedy old hotels with long gone neon signs
reclaimed by mother nature’s weed army
vending machines with tonight’s 4-course dinner
potato chips, fritos, candy bar, coca-cola
worn doors dirty windows covered with frayed curtain
truckers pulling out of overflow parking lots
getting up early, gotta make time
laundromats with sad looking people in them
people with faces colored with resignation
teenage girls with three kids thumbing through old magazines
dead grass back yards with clothes drying on a line
blowing in a stiff southern wind
broken screen doors on front porches
full of big wheels,chairs; metal, wicker, rattan
people sitting in them staring into space
haunted by their lives
cursed by their fate
