Or Ham.
“Who eats ham,” queries the perplexed, overweight waitress, “with waffles?”
Tony knows, also from past experience, that this means he won’t be having ham with his waffle. No matter how concisely he explains himself.
He reasons that strawberries will have to suffice.
The coffee is terrible, exactly what he’s become accustomed to in this rotten town. Tony doesn’t really hate the town, he’s a grim man but he’s not a prick; no, not the town. Just everyone and everything in it. And as soon as that damn bus gets here, right on schedule: an hour late, he can escape.
He reaches the bottom of his bottomless cup of coffee and declines the fat waitress’ offer for a refill. He wonders where his waffle is. Maybe they had to go out back and slaughter one themselves. Tony was sure he hadn’t heard any waffles screaming.