“. . . be careful, this plate is hot.” Inspecting the plate for exactly half a second, I immediately whipped out my Canon and began shooting it. I then flung myself upon it and made every effort to make it disappear. Try though I would, I could not finish it all.
What was behind the pink door? The kitchen, of course. And if you’re wondering about all those empty tables, remember: when I went in there, it was two o’clock. Way past the lunch rush hour. That’s why there was no body in the place.
Finally, my blood sugar fully restored, I paid the bill and staggered back through the space/time continuum, back to another much less colorful life, fatter and happier.
— THE END