The Second Hungry Beast

The restaurant is known as one of the finest French restaurants in the world (Zagat invented their new six star rating just because giving it five stars seemed too shabby and common), but you wouldn't know it from the way it looks this evening: The tables are un-bused and covered in empty dishes and crumpled napkins, the staff wander aimlessly about with dazed looks on their faces, and a stray cat leaps from table to table, eating the left-overs.

Worst of all, at least from the owner’s perspective, is the fact that there is only one customer, a teenage girl in a frilly black “elegant Gothic Lolita” dress that doesn't even come close to meeting the dress code. Her table, and most of the floor around it, is covered in dirty dishes.

“More! More! More!” she shouts, banging her fists on the table in time with the request.

The maître d' approaches, and not looking anywhere in particular, says, “My apologies madam, but the kitchen is out of food at the moment. We have nothing left to serve you.”

“That’s okay, you’ll do for desert” she says, and picks up a fork as her mouth opens grotesquely, inhumanly wide, showing off her rows and rows of fangs.

The maître d' thinks idly about the fact that she’s using the wrong fork.

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