I hardly ever remember to come to Buster's Rt. 66. Not that is is forgettable in the least. In fact it's quaint, post-modern, yet unpretentious down home diner feel is close to perfection. There coffee is close to perfection, in fact my mocha, today, quiet possibly IS perfection if such a thing can exist in this plain of existence. The menu isn't complex but still manages to present a diverse range of options that will satisfy and gratify those looking for something skirting the edges of the gourmet world to those just looking for some great eggs and bacon. The crowd is rich and varied-- my very favorite kind. Next to me is a table of blue hair brigade lesbians. On the other side of them sits a older set of parents with their grown children. In my direct line of site is a cute couple of urban hipsters with their chic bed heads and carelessly cool ensemble of jeans, t-shirts, sneakers, and jackets to handle the autumnal chill that is in the air this morning. It's easy to sit here and imagine a endless stream of Studebakers and Edsels gently easing down this urban piece of route 66. In just a few short moments the lovely Redpurse will be here to share my breakfast with me. I'm sure several of the other tables will get annoyed with our hearty laughter. I don't often think of myself as a funny person, but those that I'm closest too, like Corazon, Redpurse, and Bothhands seem to bring my since of humor tumbling out of me, and (i think) theirs out of them. With them conversation is never stilted or stifled. We find it's natural vibration and build upon it till it reaches a near fevered pitch. I can easily let someone talk over me and I end up just listening, but with them it's an even give and take. I love that. I cherish that. With those three I feel like I'm truly listened to, heard, and understood.