It’s 5 in the morning. Do you know where your appetite for a fried-bologna-and-egg sandwich is? It’s at the Holiday Restaurant in downtown Brooklyn. Time to hop the No. 64 bus across the Hanover Street bridge and, well, now that you’re there and looking at the menu, why not go whole hog and order scrapple? Just scrapple. No, scratch that. You’ll take the liver and onions with a side of pickled beets. The core grouchiness of the tanned, aging rhino of a dyed-blonde, high-haired waitress completely overwhelms your own pre-dawn angst, so you skip inconveniencing her with a request for hot sauce, and pray that the liver is as tender as liver can get. And it is, and the onions drip jus—if you close your eyes and pretend, grease is elevated to jus when you’re at the Holiday Diner. With a fine organ such as this on the plate in front of you, no one will need to refer to the instructions given in the two—that’s right, two—first-aid-for-choking posters on the wall. And, oh yeah, don’t forget the poker machines. They’re for amusement purposes only, of course, and they’re a great way to kill the time (or lose your bus fare) while you’re waiting for the No. 64 to take you back to midtown for work. Hell, skip work. Instead, just go to one of the early-morning bars in the neighborhood. They all have the cure for the liver and onions: more beer.

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