Cause I wanna take you downtown...

It must have been 2:00am this morning when I found myself surfing, smoking, brewing and chasing my tail like I usually do. This fucking insomnia has got to go.
Then again, what fun.
Hunger strike, I mean, stroke.
I think hunger strikes are as stupid as that Carpenter girl... errr, nevermind.
So, like Amundsen I set sail to my favorite late night eatery.
The Hurricane, a retroish very non-art-deco, rather warehousy, shady coffee shop a block from the Needdle. Yes, it has a bar, but this one breaks your dreams before you even walk in.
But that's not the "It" about this place. I go there because it's open, the bacon is always fried to perfection (not charred yet crunchy enough to provide the neccesary traction for the tomato not to slide). Three or four girls with multicolored hair, a army of emo's and the always sparkling pair of curvy blondes (I believe that for the purpose of general understanding of the ALWAYS BELOVED QUORUM I will have to classify their booties as BBW) of course, in their early 40's.
No, I was so NOT checking them out, really. I was incredibly entertained with the wiffity.
The what?? (and people ask if we have TV's in Mexico)
Wiffity! a wi-fi networked big ASS LCD screen that displays txt's> This, of course, is like giving me a full breakfast and a megaphone, at 2:00am.
The service sucked royal ass, but who is in a hurry at 2:00am? I mean, bush kept reading "Curious George" after being informed of the COWARD attacks in 9/11 (we're gonna get you one of these days fuckers, just wait till the shield is up and we're going to be cooking glass like a trailer park in Pierce County).
But by then I might find myself locked up in Get Mo' not becuase of my blurbs, but because I'm tan. So much for voting. Anyway. It's the Hurricane and they were playing Johnny Cash, Simple Minds, Erasure, Depeche and unfortunately Howard Jones.
Tah Tah.

Oh, yes, I almost forgot....
Being single allows you to stay up all night, eat basted eggs and an absolutely fucking magnific waffle topped with bluberries and whip cream at 2am WITHOUT having to convince anyone that the bacon is always crunchier, though Hester Prynne might disagree.
(when in fact IT IS) and fuck the tomato, it just fell on the floor.