Clark's

There's a guy with short, conservative hair, a tucked-in white polo shirt, and khaki pants. But the combat boots reveal a rebellious spirit.

Next to him is another polo-ed guy, but he's got tattooed arms and a somewhat more intense air about him.

Behind me is a couple, both sitting on the same side of the table. The guy's saying things like "Where are you from, where have you been? It's unfair: I've been living here for 11 years, and I only just met you." He's wearing a knit hat, even though it's pretty warm outside, and he's got an uninspired goatee.

To my left: A guy with 8s-esque spiked hair, short on the sides and longer on the top, shiny from the gel, wearing a vest from a 3-piece suit and really light jeans that are more thread than cloth, and also pointy, Italian-like leather shoes (boots?).

This is Clark's diner on Belmont Ave., one of the few 24-hour spots in the city. At least the few that U of C students know about. It's the kind of place where short and stout Mexican men walk continuously around and between the tables, clearing plates and refilling water, and then moving on with remarkable speed, even at 1 in the morning.

I came here for the bottomless coffee, but I have to keep ordering small dishes or else I start to feel unwelcome. Even on a weekday night the place is pretty busy, and they don't want me clogging up the tables.