The décor ran to white walls and worn Formica countertops, the gold-flecked kind, with a dented, thick stainless steel ring around it. The booths and spinning counter stools were red vinyl, cracked in places, and the larger of the rips were patched with duct tape. Black-and-white tiles covered the floor, and a faded sign taped to the swinging glass front door announced an egg, bacon, and toast breakfast could be had 24/7 for just under four bucks. Its clientele ran to the tired and worn hospital staff running across the street in stained scrubs looking for something quick to eat while the booths were sporadically filled with sad-faced families or couples, their long vigils staining their face with fatigue. David fit right in. He ordered a large tomato juice with no ice and checked the level of the Tabasco sauce on the table. I went with the coffee and some sourdough toast. The waitress was an older woman with clearly no expectations of a large tip. From the looks of things, people who sat down at Dot’s were doing so only to have somewhere else to wait.
