Between the beer, the barfing, and the butthole boyfriend, I woke up in the morning with one hell of a hangover. I stood in a hot shower feeling sorry for myself for what seemed like hours, which I regretted when I found myself standing in an overly humid sauna of a hotel room. So I took a minute to feel sorry for myself because of that, too, then stepped into my shorts and my flip flops to go looking for breakfast. Ordinarily I’d just roll up at the hotel breakfast buffet, grab a waffle and a cup of coffee, and invite myself to join whoever I happened to know, but this morning I set my sights on a neighborhood breakfast shack where not running into someone who would force me to relive my humiliation of the previous afternoon was at least a possibility.
But I stepped off the elevator into
