There is one restaurant within walking distance of the Motel 2 ½ where we are living. It’s swimming in bad art. I love bad art. They serve the world’s unhealthiest diet; huge greasy burgers, thick-cut fries and deep-fried, battered fish sandwiches. Genuine heart-attack food. Mrs. Invisible and I ordered a burger to be split between the two of us. They charge extra if you do that, but we just sold our house. We could buy a burger apiece if we wanted to. Look out, bumpkins. Big spenders comin’ thru.
Everything was dripping in there. The place accepts only cash for payment of the bill. The ceiling and walls were decorated with dollar bills stuck into every available inch with thumb tacks. Aside from the dollar bill decor, there were tee shirts and hats and Japanese lanterns and lucky waving kitty cats and jingoistic slogans like “Wake Up America” and “Pray for Our Troops”. The vehicles parked outside included motorcycles, pick-up trucks and a State Trooper car. It’s a good place in which to express your inner redneck.
We were served by a cute, fat, Asian-American lady dressed in a hot pink sequined pantsuit and a pink straw hat. She called me “honey”. (She called everyone honey.) We sat at picnic tables covered with sweating vinyl American flag pattern tablecloths. God bless America. It was one of the weirdest eating experiences of my life, thanks to the indiscriminate every-kind-of-kitsch-included design aesthetic. Here’s an introductory photo of Mrs. Invisible, the Emmy-winning ex-broadcast journalist, taken just after she ate. Whadda ya know? A person can overdose on meat.