This morning, I departed from the shabby and disreputable Tampa Inn Hotel on Busch Boulevard, a place that seems to cling to its guests with a metaphorical layer of grime. My departure has become a habitual event, checking out just after 11 am and embarking on my short journey to the nearby McDonald's, located a mere two blocks away. Along the way, I pass a nondescript gas station and a once-popular gyro eatery that, despite its undercover fame, now struggles to fill its seats. It's nestled b...