"I'm from New York," explains Voci, laughing. "I have expensive tastes."

Perhaps the Tasty is just a let down after a dinner Kataji describes as "a dining experience," at a posh restaurant on Newbury Street.

"I had filet mignon," says Kataji.

"I'm in Lent season, so I can't eat meat," says Voci, her crystal earrings glinting in the flourescent light. "I had pasta. He had meat. Being Italian, I had pasta."

"Look at this," says Kataji, carefully scraping a french fry along his napkin. A thin oily residue remains. "Grease."

"Don't do that, that's rude," says Voci, eating a fry. "If you're eating it, you shouldn't complain."

At 2:45 a.m., the customers are all college-aged, and almost all male. The music is so loud it is difficult to hear conversations.

"Hello, Sir," says Drapeau to a heavyset man in long grey coat.

"Could I have an order of fries?" asks the customer.

"You haven't returned my greeting," says Drapeau. "How can I possibly get you an order of fries?"

"I think everyone who comes in her is stoned," says Voci. "Look at them, they're staring at the burgers. You get the munchies when you're stoned."

"Excuse me," says a tall gaunt man, tapping Voci on the shoulder. A red paisley tie hangs around his head and a brown around his neck; he carries a plastic bag from the Vassar gift shop and wears fuzzy purple mittens on his hands.

"Do either of you carry lipstick?" he asks. His lips are chapped and dry.

"No," say Voci and Kataji in chorus.

"Rats," says the man. He sits back down on the windowsill.