I didn't eat today until 3:15 p.m., and while it was certainly late enough in the afternoon to forgo real food in lieu of something like, I dunno, chicken fingers, french fries and lots of liquor, which was yesterday's lunch, I was desperate for breakfast, except I didn't want a crap breakfast, so I hauled my butt off the chair and walked from my house to my neighborhood joint, a kitschy little place that does all sorts of things diabolically well, but the eggs Benedict?
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SHOW ME HOW
If you can tell me who does them better, I'll take you out to breakfast. No, seriously, I will. Or Sheehan will. Someone will.
But first, you gotta tell me: Where am I eating?