The statuesque hostess chewed on a stick of gum, smiling out the front window at passersby. The place was a little ragged: some of the seats had been worn down over the years and there were spots of broken or abused tile. But despite the use, it shone bright and clean. There was the lemony-disinfectant smell of elbow grease and love over every inch of this place.
People bustled about, and there wasn't a single booth without a smiling face. Every bar stool was taken, and polite chatter fluttered over the linoleum bar. The place shook with life.
Chrome climbed up the walls, branching into neon pink lights. They bloomed neon words over the peeling wallpaper, proclaiming "Famous Milkshakes" and "Beer on Tap." A few ancient records dangled from the ceiling like fruit heavy and ripe.