You’re crying. You don’t know why, but there you are. Bawling like the abandoned schoolgirl you were always afraid you were.
The tears keep trickling down your cheek, creating an unavoidable line of cooling flesh that quickly warms back up thanks to the heat around you. You can’t stop.
Through your blurred vision, you look down. You’re at a table, alone. As always. And there’s a menu, but not really. Can you call a sheet of paper with only one choice a menu? By definition it should have more than one option. No, not really a menu as much as a demand.
You’re still crying. Is it because of the menu? A single choice, written in blood and all caps. It’s practically yelling at you. You can’t ignore it, on account of it being in blood and all caps. Of course it is:
Alone, at the table all by yourself…
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