The basic body structure of these beauties is drastically unlike their domesticated cousins, bearing the mottled plaster and graceful arches of old spanish haciendas from the south american lineage. The colors are brighter but less varied, consisting almost entirely of brilliant blues, brick reds, and whites that instantly remind one of adobe left to bleach in the sun for hundreds of years. The sense of history alone is overwhelming, a surprise considering how recently the Denny's has been distinct as a species.
Of course the languages spoken were difficult for my untrained ear to follow, being a jumbled mix of streetpunk and Spanish; even the menus that were first delivered were in a tongue other than english and considerable effort was required to obtain them in an understandable format. The food itself was decent though, and though the service was mind-numbingly slow this seemed to be due to the lack of symbiotes, only one of the more rare managerial creatures and a few cooks in evidence and those clearly distracted mingling with the customers that are their source of sustainment.
As the muzac version of Spanish arias played, we bolted down our food and left, unwilling to disturb this unique creature any further. I should add that it had disguised itself well, with no openings from the main street and its parking lot nest tucked away past several other businesses. Even the entryway was hidden, not facing any street at all, instead pressed snug aganst a fence of boards and razor wire. I was impressed at the natural defenses this Denny's had built itself but wonder if perhaps such thorough barriers push away its' own kind as well as predators and account for its decline.