“well you’re the one eating it so I don’t mind, I’ll have a bite”.
There was just enough time to nip to the loo before dinner was served. The toilets lurk beyond two doors – labelled ‘Chicks’ and ‘Dicks’.
Shake Shack gives the discerning greasehound wooden tables, space and, when it’s in front of you, tearfully good-looking food.
“Wait was 😦 but food 🙂 and bar staff 🙂 lovely, thank you”.