Summary
"It's Poppy," I said when I returned to the table with strips of bacon you could see through. "She looks below the minimum age required by this franchise's standard practices."
"Oh, I sure will," I said, thinking it had a bit of scripture from what my son London calls the "More Man" church. I have only visited the temple in Salt Lake City once but I learned that attempting brief discussions with missionaries is like trying to buy milk at a hardware store. Oddly, the fortune the front desk clerk slipped me contained nothing about Joseph Smith, the Angel Moroni or those long Johns the anointed must wear under their Dockers. Instead, the text said what most fine dining establishments only dare to think: We needed to be prompt, kids under 12 were not allowed near the serving area, incomplete parties would not be seated and that under no circumstances would food be allowed in the same room where one slept. But we are in Green River, not Paris or New York, and this is the kind of eating situation flabby-bottomed bikers frequent, not epicureans with palates as sensitive as litmus paper.See the full content of this document
Extract
Bossy Buffet
My family and I are standing in line at a hotel in Green River, Utah, waiting for the breakfast that is included in the cost of our room. It's just after 6 am. The four of us are bleary...
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