After midnight in Waco, most of the city hums in neutral. But at Las Trancas, people line up under glowing yellow bulbs to order tacos, burritos, and nachos in a cracked parking lot while a fan kicks napkins across folding tables and the smell of sizzling meat hangs in the air. Orders bounce in English and Spanish; a ranchera drifts from the radio as tripas, pastor, and lengua hit the grill.

A late-night taco run becomes a meditation on the quiet communion of the sleepless because every town needs one place where the lights stay on a little longer than they should—and in Waco, that place is Las Trancas.

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