This is long overdue since I was in Minneapolis in early March, but I’m going to play the better late than never card. I’ve also made two trips since then and I’ve decided I’m not allowed to post about them until posted about this one.
It’s 9:02 on Sunday morning.
I waddle up the street, in layers of coat, sweater, leggings, and more to protect my week southern constitution against the Minnesota winter, the added layers and my yet-to-be-broken-in Dr. Martens accentuating my penguin like physique and gate. I’m trying to walk quickly and failing. After arguing with myself on the merits of a giant breakfast vs my warm bed followed by two wrong turns the less than one mile walk from the hotel, I am late. They opened at 9:00.
The skinny store front of Al’s Breakfast occupies a former ally between two much larger buildings, one also serving breakfast. Despite being open a mere two minutes, all 14 stools running longways through the center of the scant 10 feet wide storefront appear to be taken and a line of 15 more is waiting along the wall behind the diners. After following Butch Walker around the country and spending as much as 12 hours in line in a single day, I am a pro at waiting in line and I am ready to do my time as I take in my surroundings.