"no way," i said unconvincingly.
white castle is my favorite restaurant.
we had to stop at that gas station anyway so i could get something to drink and there was that white castle smell: onions, pig hide and crisco. deeee-lish. it smells exactly the same before it goes in, as it does when it dribbles out. particularly if it comes out in a high-traffic porta-potty in mid-august.
typically at a white castle i like to order two jalapino cheese burgers, cheese sticks and chicken rings for dessert.
on thursday i just grabbed myself a red g-2, avoided eye contact with the menu board, and made a beeline for the safety of the car. a virtual pope mobile in the face of the white castle's bullets of temptation.
we had just merged back onto the highway when i smelled something so awful that it could only be a crave case. "did you burp?" i asked chuck. "no," he said.
and that's when i realized that i'd gotten white castle smell in my hair.