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Lee Ann Pratt cooked my food and Mildred Grigsby set it before me while Zeda Fouts swiped around on the counter and kept track of things while I sat mostly at the counter at Don's Restaurant in Hazard. Mommy had a charge account there, as well as every other place in town. I walked down from Hazard High on Baker Hill every school day at 12 sharp and I'm here to tell you, you really had to shuffle your feet to get a seat. Oh my; a hot dog with the wiener split and fried on the grill, on a toasted hamburger bun, smothered with homemade chili, fine chopped onions, a little mustard, with a big glass of ice and coke. Mildred, one of the prettiest girls in the world, watched for you to finish so she could whisk away your empty plate and bring your homemade pie, butterscotch, chocolate, pecan, coconut cream, you name it, Zeta had it under big glass domes, and was most generous in her slabs. Don Fouts was always somewhere around, supervising, I guess, but I thought Mrs. Fouts was the heart of Don's. My meal came to a quarter a day. At the rear was THE PLACE where the elite had lunches, little bowls of red sauce with shrimp hanging over the lip of the bowl, and you had to be affiliated with a club or something to dine there. Big ceiling fans kept the air circulating, and every body who was anybody ate at Dons.