Bella
As soon as I set foot in Daisy's, know I've stepped onto a minefield. It looks like your typical American diner: black and white checked floors, red and white vinyl booths, jukeboxes on every table, and walls crammed with pictures of the owner—you guessed it, Daisy —hugging legendary athletes and local celebrities.
The menu flashes in pink and green neon letters above the silver bar. Packed, noisy, and carrying the mouthwatering scent of deep-fried onions and burgers, this place is heaven for our semi-drunken asses. We slip into the guys' booth, but I can't shake off the feeling that something terrible is about to happen.
