Summer Vacation

As the questionably dressed waiter takes your order, you swear you see a smirk play across his lips. He turns and walks away from your table, scratching at an alarmingly large sore on his right arm.

In an attempt to distract yourself from what you have seen, you begin to play with the grimy items on the table. Lifting up a sauce bottle, encrusted with generation of congealed red dribbles, you feel something solid roll against the inside of the bottle.