I slide in to a local diner in St. Charles, MO. 3 old men sit at a table in the middle of the restaurant. The man in the blue shirt dominates the group.

The owner is in a booth. The waitress is standing at the counter.

The whole crew gossips about local events and people.

An old man pulls his pickup into the lot. Minutes pass. The owner says “He fell asleep listening to Rush again, someone wake him up.”

I order an omelet and pancakes.

The Rush fan stumbles in wearing a white hat. The man in blue shirt says “I’m hungry”. The waitress grabs lunch for the crew of 4. The man in the blue shirt gets a large garden salad. Odd.

A giant fluffy omelet is placed in front of me along with 2 perfectly poured pancakes that could be the cover of a children’s book.

A man hidden by a pillar pulls out a new phone. It can text. They are impressed.

An old couple walks in the door. The waitress instinctively brings out two tuna salad on toast.

In the rear corner of the restaurant I pay my bill.

The Rush fan stumbles back to his truck.

I slip out the back of the restaurant. Hands go to mouths, whispers start.

Limbaugh is the soundtrack as I trek to my car.

The scene is delicious.