Can't get it off my mind.

I'm thinking about some Char Grill. And that means I ain't thinking about much of anything else.

I'd opt for the real one, on Hillsborough Street. Let's see, uh, cheeseburger — mustard and pickle, fries and a large Dr. Pepper. (I don't do no Pepsi.) Then, if it turned out that that wasn't enough, I'd go back for a plain hot dog.

In recent years, The Char Grill and Watkins Grill have become two of the main reasons we don't pack up and split the Raleigh scene.

There used to be a big fat brown cat that used to hang out at The Char, bumming fries and stuff offa people. I've probably plugged a dozen orders of fries into that cat. Haven't seen him in a long while, so I bet he's dead. All those fries probably did him in. That, or some loser whipping his Camry around the back of The Char too fast. You know, now that the Char Cat is gone, you see a lot more Char Birds. A big afternoon for my little girl is to sit in the back of our Chevy pickup, tossing french fries to the Char Birds. If one happens to actually catch it in flight, man, that's living! Ah, the simple things.