Several people recommended that I try the breakfast burrito from this weird little joint that squats directly adjacent to a gas station, which happens to reek of incense. The breakfast burrito was merely pedestrian, as was the green chile that was more mild-mannered and mellow than the spacy dude in the petrol station, who also happens to hawk cannabis drinks in a can. Suffice it to say that the gas station was far more memorable than the breakfast burrito.
Can you guess where I'm eating?
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