Snow flakes fall heavy as I walk towards Chubby 's, a Mexican joint located on the street corner of the 38th block of Lipan, on the north side of Denver. It 's a little past midnight and as the night slowly ages, the wind blows colder. A pair of black suede Reebok sneakers shield my feet and a black Columbia fleece protects me from the unforgiving night chill. As I approach the restaurant, a stubby man dressed in a baggy Adidas tracksuit, stands outside puffing on a cigarette while speaking on the phone in a secretive tone. I hold my breath to avoid the second-hand smoke as I pass by. I open the door of the restaurant and I am instantly greeted by a stocky police officer who is on his way out, empty handed. He must have received a really important call, because that 's the only kind of call worth walking out of Chubby 's, empty handed, for. Once inside the tiny restaurant, I immediately stand in line. The restaurant 's waiting room is almost like a beating heart, as blissful attitudes from all over the city …show more content…
After being blessed by the aroma of the chili, I snap back to reality and my eyes once more continue wandering around the restaurant.
The tile on the restaurant 's floor is some sort of beet red and is covered in wet footsteps. I spot a Milky Way wrapper on the floor by the ATM that is next to the entrance door. A couple of teen girls stand by the entrance, babbling obnoxiously about guys and other mean girl subjects. A framed old Westword magazine cover is pinned on the wall next to the kitchen door.
On the cover of the magazine is an old woman with a charming grandmother smile, she has short wavy hair and sports a pair of big granny glasses. In her hands, she holds a plate of Chubby 's famous smothered fries. Neighboring the magazine cover is a framed, two page article with huge bulky words that read, "The Heat Is On"