Something about waking up in a strange place . . . It's just about impossible to go back to sleep. Also, I learned that 70 degrees Fahrenheit feels way colder when you've been lying motionless on the ground for two hours than when you've been walking around. I never would have thought one's teeth could chatter at 70 degrees.
After I woke up, I went to Wafflehouse and ate breakfast, did art history research. I had the same waitress as last time. The familiarity and the food and coffee and the vague imitation of friendliness sort of created a sense of home. I can see why a certain kind of people really like diners. Like, Edward Hopper's Nighthawks painting . . . these isolated people finding comfort not in some sort of party or night club or get together with a friend, but just this intimately sized space in which there are other people sharing a location with you, experiencing similar feelings maybe.