The Taco Bell of Tiny Broken Dreams
I love all Taco Bells. But I love this Taco Bell the most. It’s the one across the street from the Warner Bros. lot in Burbank, and for the six months I worked on the lot, I ate here more often than not.
I love it because the management decided at some point in the mid-90s to start lining the beams of the restaurant with the headshots of the young up-and-comers dragged from across the road by fussy stage moms for a quick bite. But then the beams filled up and the project came to a halt probably soon after it started, and the result is a time capsule of nascent celebrity frozen in the least likely yet tastiest of all places. Oh God it’s so depressing, I love it.
Perhaps you’ve heard of Marty York, for God’s sake? Does Courtland Mead maybe ring a bell? Oh, I’m sorry, when you stuff yourself with fourthmeal where Jennifer Banko once barely touched her Mexican pizza, friend, you stuff yourself on hallowed ground. This here is Hollywood history.
