“I ordered a cheeseburger and a beer from a waitress who looked as though she wanted to be in one of those want-to-get-away? commercials. She called me hon. I love when a waitress calls me hon.”

“Waitress!" Hedge called. "Six double espressos, and whatever these guys want. Put it on the girl's tab.”

“I just smiled and wished hard for the waitress to come back from Cancun or Mazatlan or wherever she was so I could order my martini.”

“...Baltimore. It's imperfect. Boy, is it imperfect. And there are parts of its past that make you wince. It's not all marble steps and waitresses calling you 'hon,' you know. Racial strife in the sixties, the riots during the Civil War. F. Scott Fitzgerald said it was civilized and gay, rotted and polite. The terms are slightly anachronistic now, but I think he was essentially right.”

“The waitress brought me another drink. She wanted to light my hurricane lamp again. I wouldn't let her."Can you see anything in the dark, with your sunglasses on?" she asked me."The big show is inside my head," I said.”

“Stay away from us!" Michael ordered. He was looking at Nora in horror, as if he couldn't believe what she was saying. "No one's trying to get near you," Chas snorted. "I don't do living guys. Call me prejudiced.”