I decided I was hungry, and went out on foot to scout for a possible breakfast. Besides, I wanted to check the out area surrounding the Neighborly Abode. The only real way to do that is to walk. When you drive, you miss all sorts of interesting stuff going by.

Out on the corner of Sheridan, I noticed a burger joint. I walked into the parking lot, spotted the dumpster enclosure, and said what the hell. There was nobody except cars around, and cars are blind, especially when they are passing at high speeds.

I entered, and started digging around, getting my hands a little dirty. I didn't dig long enough to find anything I wanted, and I doubt there would have been much payoff even if I had opened up every garbage bag and gone through to the bottom. This was almost all post-consumer stuff. Cups, wrappers, smudged napkins. There was nothing here.

Live and learn.

I looked at the surrounding area, and saw a row of little places across the street as well. I decided to cross, and see what was over there. There was a donut shop, a dairy queen, a pizza hut, and a little building with a mexican restaurant that was shaped like a taco bell, but wasn't. I didn't attempt to dig into any more dumpsters.

Instead, I went to the Not Taco Bell, otherwise known (I think?) as Roberto's Mexican Food. In actual fact, the restaurant had once been a Taco Bell. Years ago, I would sometimes stop at the drive-thru there on my way home from the dollar theatre that went out of business in the mid-to-late 90s. (Before that theatre went under, for a time it became the $1.50 theatre, then the $1.75 threatre, and finally the $2 theatre. I would go there almost every week without fail.)

But now, here I was, entering this restaurant that had an unfamiliar sign out front, but still featured all the same Taco Bell style furniture and dining chairs. Why not Taco Bell anymore? Maybe the chain deemed that it wasn't profitable enough, and sold it off. Or maybe the owner of the place decided the franchise fees weren't worth paying, and decided to spin it off into something else.

Chimes attached to the door rattled loudly and jarringly as I forcefully pulled it open. I hadn't been expecting that. They were so loud that I tried to silence them with my hand.

I up next to the counter, and began to look at the menu. An extremely pretty, shy looking girl walked up to the other side of the counter -- she must have had some percentage of hispanic blood, but her complexion was fairly light. She asked what I wanted.

I looked at the menu for a bit longer; when it's not a chain where you've been a million times whose latest products have been advertised all over tv, you actually have to think about these things. I decided I wanted one of their breakfast burritos.

She asked me what kind. I looked at the menu again. Lots of yummy sounding selections, all of them the same price. "Steak, egg, and cheese."

The total rang up as $2.96. I had four dollar bills in my wallet. I handed her three, and she gave me 4 pennies. I noted the cup for tips, and deposited my fourth dollar. No more cash now. My cash drain for the week has been slightly higher than planned. That $20 I withdrew last Thursday was supposed to last me until at least the middle of the week. But that's what happens when you run around town, buying little bits of shit here and there.

I have no regrets. It was all worth it.

She carried a little slip of paper, old fashion style, back to the guy who was doing the food preparation. He was definitely hispanic. No question about that. There was nobody else in the restaurant. Just 2 employees, and 1 customer: me.

I looked over at the end of the counter. A laser printed sign, dangling from a piece of tape, read. "Chips and salsa free for dine-in customers only. Chips for take out are $1.50"

Well, I was a dine in customer alright. I examined the metal container full of warm chips, and checked out the salsa varieties available for self-serve. Pico de gillo in one, a mixture of whole jalapenos and cooked carrots in another, and a vat of liquidy red stuff that was most certainly the spicy-in-a-hot-sense variety.

Fuck Taco Bell. Fuck Martha Stewart. This place ruled.

I took a paper bowl and filled it with chips. I topped off one of the little salsa cups with the liquid red fiery stuff, and threw in one of the whole jalapenos for fun.

I took a seat at one of the tables, and began to munch. The guy in the back was busy at the grill. He must have been cooking up the steak and eggs for my burrito.

The salsa was HOT. Not in a slow habanero sense, but in a quick jalapeno sense, probably with some chilis and other things to perk it up as well. My tongue seared. I could feel the blood rushing up to my face, and into my cheeks. But it was too good. I kept eating. Before long, my entire facial area started to feel oddly numb.

Welcome to the world of full sensory perception.

Finally, in desperation, I went up to the counter, got the attention of the girl, who had turned away, and asked if I could please have some water. (I thought about saying, "Aqua, por favor." But decided against it. I am a dumb, arrogant, English-speaking white person. Anything else would just be pretentious.)

She got a cup, filled it with ice, and then ran back to the tap to fill it up. I was grateful that the cup was fairly large.

Out of my mouth came the word, "Gracias." Oh well. So much for not being pretentious.

I sipped on the water, and slowly finished my chips. The burning stayed on my tongue for a while.

My burrito arrived, hot and fresh. I took a couple small bites, but I had to wait a few minutes before I reall started to eat it. My tongue was still burning from the salsa, and the burrito itself was quite hot in the temperature sense.

I had taken a small bite out of the jalapeno with some of my chips, but I regretted that I had even put it in the bowl in the first place. I was not going to eat the rest.

I contemplated trying to start up a little conversation en español with the senorita who was milling about behind the counter. But the very fact that I was contemplating instead of doing meant hesitation. I took this as definitive evidence that this multi-day head trip must now be on the downward slope. My inhibitions are starting to return.

Este salsa es muy caliente. Yo quiero caliente. Thought but not spoken.

She smiled, and wandered back into the recesses of the building, out of sight.

When my tongue, as well as the burrito itself cooled down enough, I started to take bites, and found that it was absolutely delicious. Quite large as well. Stuffed full with bits of tasty, tender steak, eggs, and savory melted cheddar, it didn't occupy quite as much volume as a typical Q'Doba would, but it was plenty big.

This, for less than $3, or $4 if you're a tipper.

Again, Fuck Taco Bell.

I finished my burrito, threw away my trash, and left the restaurant fully satisfied.

I'll have to go there again sometime soon.