Photo: Adam Wallacavage.

diner Waiting at the Luv-Inn. "Please wait for your hostess to seat you," reads the sign that hangs above the cash register at Mil-Lee?s Luv-Inn Diner. Fixed on hinges of an angle iron, the sign swings with each gust of wind from customers entering and exiting, marking time, dividing the wait for service.   The Wait: The ill-defined period between wanting and receiving. When short, the wait is never brief enough and when long, the maker of martyrs and tragic heroes. Tales of The Wait pepper our collective consciousness, from the painful tale of Prometheus, bound to a rock, cursed to eternal life, eagle picking at his ever-regenerating liver, to the equally tragic tale of the chain smoker waiting to finish his cigarette so he can light up the next. Waits need not be epic nor noteworthy. In fact, they're so common, to try to find an epiphany in each would leave one's nerves bloody and raw, much like Gary Busey's scalp after a night out on the Hog. For while we cannot always control that for which we wait, we can determine what is worth waiting for, and what is merely a waste of time.   "Do you realize how many minutes of each day we spend waiting for things; waiting for things to happen, to begin, to end; waiting to get what's coming to us?" grumbled Pete, the oft-jilted, bitter and tormented of the two. "It's time to take off the hair shirt Pete," countered Brian. "Now I'm no Deepak Chopra, so my advice may be bitter medicine. It may be blunt. In fact, it may be completely irrelevant to your situation. But the way I see it, there's no reason to get your panties in a twist. Every teacher, football coach and scout leader you've ever had has told you that success is achieved, not received. That it is based on victory in the hard-fought battle of activity vs. passivity. I believe, however, that there are things that cannot be taken, things worth waiting for." "And I suppose one of them is waiting for you to finish a thought." "Well, it's better than waiting for you to form one," chuckled Brian. "Regardless, and here's a little maxim I tell hotheads like yourself: true love and fine food are worth their weight in wait. They are things that one must wait for and often can do nothing but wait for, for they are functions of our innermost cravings and insecurities. Goddamnit. Where is that hostess!" "Alright then, party of two," interrupted the hostess, no doubt knowing that she had two "live ones" on her hands. Soon enough Brian and Pete were seated at a red booth, flanked by a curtain of red translucent, heart-shaped beads, reading cherry-red menus punctuated with cutesy truisms like "no charge for toasting" and "Egg McBagel, as is."   Mil-Lee's Luv-Inn Diner, a half classic-stainless-steel, half stuccoed building at 5717 Rising Sun Ave., is situated on the fringe of the Great Northeast. Stated boldly on the southern wall, high above painted silhouettes of couples in various stages of osculation, is Mil-Lee's claim: "Sexiest Food in Town." By what standard does one determine a hamburger's sexiness? Perhaps some other dishes would offer up some clues. "Are you two ready to order, or would you like to wait a few more minutes?" asked the waitress sleepily. "No, no. Don't go. I'll have the corned beef hash, a toasted English Muffin and a cup of hot tea," lilted Brian. "An omelette with onions, mushrooms and cheese, a side of home fries and a cup of coffee here," gurgled Pete, languishing in a turbid sea of resign. "Will that be all? OK," said the waitress. As she retreated to the kitchen, Pete and Brian pondered their individual stations in life. Brian riffed on his well-adjustedness. For Brian, love sprang eternal like an aroused Pepsi bottle spewing sacchariney sweet fizz upon everyone in the room. For Pete, love had sprung a leak; he contemplated his libido, circling endlessly, unclaimed, on a luggage carousel in the airport of some city where rivers converge on the edge of what was once a prairie. Interrupting Brian mid-grin, and Pete mid-grimace, the waitress arrived with the order. Was the food sexy? You bet. As Pete ate, savoring every tasty morsel, his libido grew three sizes bigger. "I feel funny inside," chirped Pete. "You know, love is like an omelette: if you wait, it'll come, and hopefully it'll be cooked right." "Precisely. Add just the right toppings, and you've got something you can really sink your teeth into. Add too much spice, and you ruin love?s subtle flavor." "And the more I wait for love, the better my chances are of finding it," added Pete. "I'm gonna go wait for every girl I lay my eyes on." "Wait, you?ve got it all wrong?" "No time for that, Brian. Consider me on the clock." And with that, he left, young, dumb and full of coffee - the personals section of some free weekly rag tucked firmly under his arm. Sitting in silence, stuck with the check, Brian sipped the last of his tea and contemplated the motto emblazoned on the front of each menu: "No one need be lonely, Mil-Lee's is always open." - Pete Brown and Brian Howard