No Proscenium

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My TARDIS is a Diner

A mug of coffee.

The morning newspaper.

French toast dusted with powdered sugar and four picture perfect pieces of bacon tiptoeing at the edge of a puddle of syrup.

This is Foxy's in Glendale. It's all wood and brown leather--or at least pleather--in here. There's a toaster on every booth table.

I didn't get toast. Maybe I should have. Just to make sure it works.

I'm the youngest person in here. This is something of an accomplishment, give how far I've gotten up in years.

If it wasn't for my iPhone and the Twitter argument I'm currently having I could imagine that it's a decade ago and I'm having the best morning in ages.

The paper. Coffee. My journal.

All of time and space before us, and this is what I choose.