Sea of dry sauce in a Hooters booth
Nothing
Taking an initially east bound route to Parramatta is still early enough as the shaky wagon carrying the bulk of the Comic Shop makes it into the car park of Hooters ahead of the other.
On the table, the plan of attack for the weekend of Supanova later in the month. Where chaos will surely fall with varying degrees of results. Pages and papers and it's all going the way of figuring out the mess from the action.
Luisa, the waitress/hostess, is barely audible over the din against no one else at the restaurant. Dead quiet over the loud TV sets, and before the rush as the sun works its way down for another day.
Sticky remnants of mustard, barbeque and tomato sauce all over the tables and menus leaves the lean of elbows in a dangerous angle of any fashion.
Buffalo platter of the Hooterstisers is quick and leafy on leafy with the crumbed chicken and prawns going quick to fill out the stomachs for the night. Two drops of the dipping sauce, however, manage to join the front of the outfit with a mysterious blood stain from last year. Mild is really mild, even non-existent, so it was all on sucking down a lemon for a hint of that lip curl kick.
Steak, medium-rare with the little stick, chews on the side of medium-well. Ribs, perhaps, the better choice with the sauce that registers hardly anything in the thick of the meat. Better on a bone says the ribs man. Least with no bones, and a moderately sizeable chunk, the stomach isn't going to face the night alone with the filling hooterstisers.
An afterthought is what transpires for the slide of the dessert onto the tongues. Quick glance shows up a kiddie's dessert as a slight tightness stares back. Mini ice cream sundae reading with about the same dress as the Huge Hooters hot fudge sundae.
Running over the half before hitting the table, the dollops and scoops are melting like the invisible sweat off the brow. More soup than ice cream, the slurps are loud for effect and it's just like a chocolate milkshake, only with nuts.
Walking away, from the buxom buffet, nothing holds down the ribs or gut to cripple the walk. Two shots to the midsection the only lasting marks.
Soon Van - Monday, 9 October 2006 - 10:50
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Previous entries on Nothing
- Flipping coins into the window
- Cutting through with Everests
- Goat walks into the wrong side of the fence
- Losing the sole
- Gin and tonic for the Adam's apple
- Book signing with Julian Morrow
