What sets this Waffle House (which anchor's a Masters Inn buget motel) apart from its fellow kin is the clientel who come through the door. While most of the businesses north of Interstate 20 have gone dark (except for New York XXX Adult Video), WH is a hot-house of activity.

Below, Sean strikes a pose indicitive of the neighborhood.


Tooney was our server, and that's about all we can say. Unless we note her tattoo, which inscribed "Crystal" on her forearm. Dan's pickle came with fuzz. Tim didn't get a pickle, and his Texas Cheesesteak Sandwich was over-done. And the ketchup bottle was a mess. Regardless, WH was significantly better than anything we could hope to get at Six Flags over Georgia.