sunday waffles

A few times a week I drive into town (really it's just around the corner) and pass an old, dilapidated gas station that sits on the southwest corner of a four-way stop. It's almost overgrown, no idea how long it's been vacant, but the sign surely gives some clue; I'll bet a research grant could be awarded. The keystone of the mystery would be any idea of what the second digit was the day it closed: 2? 5? 9?. Maybe by combining the tumbleweed growth, the number, and some really good cypherin', I could come to solve the puzzle. Maybe I'll jump the fence and dig around in the weeds for the fallen digit...the 'fallen digit'! Maybe, in the end, I don't want to know. The other picture is of my local Indian-owned, government-subsidized gas and tobacco station on my end of town. It's the cheapest in town...for what that's worth.

Drove into Reno this morning ($12 of gas right there!) to get the NYTimes (so I can romance someone with my crossword prowess), school supplies (Super Wal-mart), and Sunday morning waffles at the Pneumatic Diner. I know you're asking "why are they called Sunday morning waffles?", well, because they only make them on Sundays...easy. In the end, I ordered the Huevos Rancheros as always; and in the end, they were excellent as always. Nice coffee and a lemon fizzie rounded out the meal.

Calling the girls tonight to check on their weeks. Details to follow....

Love to all...