Pepper steak and eggs on a diner platter. There is a clattering of dishes as busboys clear tables. There is a smattering of lips smack across the restaurant, as all its patrons delve into breakfast pancakes running thick with rich syrup, savoring the salt of bacon and the pillowy, hot, fresh biscuits that seem to be coming out of the kitchen in conveyer belt-like fashion with no signs of stopping. There is no hesitation for the waitress to fill up coffee mugs with the steaming fresh pot she carries in her hands. Chrome-plated, red white and blue color scheme dances in neon bright lights, carrying some opposite SOS beacon across the water like, “Please don’t bother us. We’re having such a nice time!”. The trivial joys are rudimentary if you are lucky enough to not be taken prisoner by your own thoughts. Salt and pepper eggs with the runny yolk being caught by well-done toast. Corned beef hash can be a religion if you really close your eyes and try. Or not try. It actually doesn’t take much trying, it’s so delicious. Clearing your throat. Eating beyond your means. This grandiose American culture and entertainment. I unwrap my paper napkin rolled utensils. And begin to brace myself for my first bite. It will be triumphant fireworks reminiscent of the 4th of July.