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diners club: kingman
if you ever plan to motor west
Rutherford’s Family Diner, Route 66.
Charmless atmosphere, half-finished décor as if they’d started with grand ideas and lost interest. Framed James Dean jigsaw puzzle hanging crookedly. A rock wall trying hard to look like flagstone. Black-and-white checkerboard floor. Burgundy leatherette booths, chipped Formica tabletops.
But: diner food, no question. Short stacks and grilled ham. Rugged coffee that tastes burnt. A gnat in the water tumbler. Onion rings thick as donuts. Baseball on a transistor radio. Old grease and plastic flowers in the hallway.
Next door, a motel advertising a free fax machine.
High desert and everything coated in sandy grit.
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