Member-only story
The Day I Almost Sold My Soul to the Devil
It all happened at a Waffle House in Georgia
Most Waffle Houses are in the South. And even though some of these places are known as a stomping ground for drunks and stoners hoping to line their intestinal walls with soothing fatty soul foods, the Waffle House lives in an eternal state of breakfast bliss with an infinite number of strips of bacon and eggs doused with never-ending cups of coffee. But little did I know what would happen to me inside this place.
Yes, I happened to be drunk at the time after visiting a friend in Georgia. I was also lured by Southern hospitality, believing in the goodness of strangers. I was alone, and it was late at night. Strangely, I was the only customer who walked in. The people working there were eerily familiar, and I, for a moment, forgot the evil corporate nature of fast food restaurants. The cooks were happy doing their work and enjoyed feeding the hungry drunks.
The heat of the night was intense, and it feels like hell. The temperature is so high everyone seems to be going insane. But inside of the Waffle House was cooled by machines spilling man made cold air of oblivious salvation
I sat in one of the empty booths by the window, looking at the door. I think about my life and the state of our misery in the world, the beauty and…