THIS IS A TUESDAY NIGHT.

Sometimes life is just a cliche. A delicious, delicious cliche. Anyone who wants to use the following as a screenplay, be my guest. I'm sure there is a market for the zany adventures of three college girls in search of an all-night diner in the wilds of lower merion county, pa.


So, we found The Quintisessential American Diner, its blue neon sign rising out of the Pennsylvania darkness. You're either the kind of person who likes diners or you’re not, and this one was perfect. Perfect, in that we were hungry and sleepy and needed a place to give us eggs and toast and lentil soup and french fries and grilled cheese with tomato and terrible hot chocolate in thick white mugs with whipped cream.


My friend Cea and I were abroad last semester, and kids, there ain't no diners in those parts. This one was a beaut—formica tables, tough waitress, after dinner mints and toothpicks at the counter.


Carry On My Wayward Son played, really. And then "Give A Little Bit."

(awesome original version, handsome singer, adorable sax player )

My friend Leah said, “You’re not thinking rationally. You just ate.” to general hilarity. Then we watched Office Space. And we could see the squirrels and they were merry.