Workman's cafe
Uncontrollable post-exercise hunger has demanded that I stop for a quick dinner at what seems like a workman's cafe in Waterloo. Everyone around me is a mate and everyone is having fish 'n' chips. I am having salmon and salad. "That looks great, mate", sputters the bloke from the table semi-detached from mine, deep-fried breadcrumbs falling down his chin. "I wish I'd ordered that too!". All the ot her mates nod in unanimous agreement and we exchange a heartfelt smile. Then they resume their chat and breadcrumb banter about sex change, two fat women they've seen on YouTube and faces they would like to smash. This place is real. After I swallow the last limp lettuce leaf on my plate, I shall wholeheartedly confirm that there is nowhere else I'd rather be on a sultry Tuesday night like tonight.