Without any assent or dissent from the team, Tillotson started handing out plates while Gail gave everyone a lobotomized smile and collected the buffet tickets. In went the boys to the dining room. To their credit, the Circle cafeteria had laid out a staggering spread, and it probably had all been edible around noon that day, when it was first cooked and trayed. At the front of the line were two heaping piles of Texas toast and biscuits, which was the old buffet trick of putting the bread first to hog room on the plate. All the boys fell for this, except Sticky, who nonchalantly pocketed a biscuit like it was a billfold. Fast-forward over the salad, which was barely chopped chunks of iceberg. Get past the taigas of broccoli and asparagus, forget the mucusy okra and something resembling succotash, and skip ahead to the station for the mains and sides. The choice was meatloaf surfing its own au jus, a sweaty pile of spaghetti, or fried chicken with an impossible nook-and-cranny mahogany breading burnished by the golden heat lamp. And then came mac and cheese by the yard, a Close Encounters amount of mashed potatoes, and two long porcelain boats in the shape of chuck wagons for glopping white and brown gravy. And as the boys’ gang tackled the fried chicken, out came two piping trays of beef enchiladas and pork tamales. Amazing.