After my parents picked me up from the train station, we went to this small hamburger joint that we always go to that's kind of nearby. It's quite good - they make homemade coleslaw, cakes, and soups - and I had a hamburger and a bowl of chicken dumpling soup along with a diet pepsi. My father had a coney dog (a hotdog with a beanless chili-like sauce on top of it, with mustard and chopped onions), and when the gritty, short white waitress with a pale moustache and beard asked how everything was, he said the hotdog was great, and she was like, "That's because we deep fry them."
The next day me and my mom and my godmother ("Marge") were at a similar-type restaurant in downtown Detroit, and the waiter (this kind of fat, balding, hairy, brusque Indian or Arab guy) came up to the table, and before even asking anything, he just looked straight at my godmother's tits.
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