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We went to the reastaurant for a meal for my birthday in September. It was cold outside so I took several coats to stay warm against the coldness, because it was cold outside, you see. We arrived inside the restaurant and a lady showed us to our table. It was round and had four seats, and no plausable similie to accompany it.
A drone with a beard handed us a menu each and I read it. It took me around 27 minutes to find the actual food, there were many pages of wines which I wasn't allowed to drink - I'd been sober since the accident in Berlin. The list of dishes wasn't very impressive, it was decidedly unimpressive actually. I thought about pelting the bearded drone with a handful of rock salt which I always kept in the chest pocket of my blue coat, but decided against it as I dislike making a scene.
From the sparse list of food I chose to order a steak, with a side order of onion rings, because I do like onion rings on a hot summer day. The weather outside was rather bracing, so a hot-day food would surely warm me up. I was wrong. The steak was mostly unpleasant and I had to cause a fuss. "This steak is chewy!" I yelled in the face of the bearded man, who turned an uncomfortable pink and promised to refresh my platter. He took twenty minutes, the vile poker-hound. He looked the sort to be on drugs. "Bearded man, I cried, bring me my meal for I fear I shall faint if sustinence is not placed before me."
He scurried into the kitched, probably to spit on my meal, and brought it to me with flailing ragdoll limbs. I couldn't eat it though, not with the thought of his flakes of dry-mouthed spit on my steak. I merely devoured my onions rings and slipped my steak into my coat pocket, the dogs would eat it instead.
I didn't leave the bearded man a tip, he'd probably have spent it on drugs or prostitutes anyway. And as prostituted were heavily involved in the incident in Berlin that stops me drinking wine I am against the entire issue.
I left the restaurant in a flurry and clip-clopped down the cobbled road to my prestene cottage. However a wolf blocked my path. He probably wanted to rob me for money to buy drugs. The wolf lunged at me and began tearing at my chest. I remembered the juicy steak in my pocket, and the bearded man spitting on it so I wouldn't eat it. It was all a plan to rob me for drug money. I knew it!
A drone with a beard handed us a menu each and I read it. It took me around 27 minutes to find the actual food, there were many pages of wines which I wasn't allowed to drink - I'd been sober since the accident in Berlin. The list of dishes wasn't very impressive, it was decidedly unimpressive actually. I thought about pelting the bearded drone with a handful of rock salt which I always kept in the chest pocket of my blue coat, but decided against it as I dislike making a scene.
From the sparse list of food I chose to order a steak, with a side order of onion rings, because I do like onion rings on a hot summer day. The weather outside was rather bracing, so a hot-day food would surely warm me up. I was wrong. The steak was mostly unpleasant and I had to cause a fuss. "This steak is chewy!" I yelled in the face of the bearded man, who turned an uncomfortable pink and promised to refresh my platter. He took twenty minutes, the vile poker-hound. He looked the sort to be on drugs. "Bearded man, I cried, bring me my meal for I fear I shall faint if sustinence is not placed before me."
He scurried into the kitched, probably to spit on my meal, and brought it to me with flailing ragdoll limbs. I couldn't eat it though, not with the thought of his flakes of dry-mouthed spit on my steak. I merely devoured my onions rings and slipped my steak into my coat pocket, the dogs would eat it instead.
I didn't leave the bearded man a tip, he'd probably have spent it on drugs or prostitutes anyway. And as prostituted were heavily involved in the incident in Berlin that stops me drinking wine I am against the entire issue.
I left the restaurant in a flurry and clip-clopped down the cobbled road to my prestene cottage. However a wolf blocked my path. He probably wanted to rob me for money to buy drugs. The wolf lunged at me and began tearing at my chest. I remembered the juicy steak in my pocket, and the bearded man spitting on it so I wouldn't eat it. It was all a plan to rob me for drug money. I knew it!
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We went to the reastaurant for a meal for my birthday in September. It was cold outside so I took several coats to stay warm against the coldness, because it was cold outside, you see. We arrived inside the restaurant and a lady showed us to our table. It was round and had four seats, and no plausable similie to accompany it.
A drone with a beard handed us a menu each and I read it. It took me around 27 minutes to find the actual food, there were many pages of wines which I wasn't allowed to drink - I'd been sober since the accident in Berlin. The list of dishes wasn't very impressive, it was decidedly unimpressive actually. I thought about pelting the bearded drone with a handful of rock salt which I always kept in the chest pocket of my blue coat, but decided against it as I dislike making a scene.
From the sparse list of food I chose to order a steak, with a side order of onion rings, because I do like onion rings on a hot summer day. The weather outside was rather bracing, so a hot-day food would surely warm me up. I was wrong. The steak was mostly unpleasant and I had to cause a fuss. "This steak is chewy!" I yelled in the face of the bearded man, who turned an uncomfortable pink and promised to refresh my platter. He took twenty minutes, the vile poker-hound. He looked the sort to be on drugs. "Bearded man, I cried, bring me my meal for I fear I shall faint if sustinence is not placed before me."
He scurried into the kitched, probably to spit on my meal, and brought it to me with flailing ragdoll limbs. I couldn't eat it though, not with the thought of his flakes of dry-mouthed spit on my steak. I merely devoured my onions rings and slipped my steak into my coat pocket, the dogs would eat it instead.
I didn't leave the bearded man a tip, he'd probably have spent it on drugs or prostitutes anyway. And as prostituted were heavily involved in the incident in Berlin that stops me drinking wine I am against the entire issue.
I left the restaurant in a flurry and clip-clopped down the cobbled road to my prestene cottage. However a wolf blocked my path. He probably wanted to rob me for money to buy drugs. The wolf lunged at me and began tearing at my chest. I remembered the juicy steak in my pocket, and the bearded man spitting on it so I wouldn't eat it. It was all a plan to rob me for drug money. I knew it!
A drone with a beard handed us a menu each and I read it. It took me around 27 minutes to find the actual food, there were many pages of wines which I wasn't allowed to drink - I'd been sober since the accident in Berlin. The list of dishes wasn't very impressive, it was decidedly unimpressive actually. I thought about pelting the bearded drone with a handful of rock salt which I always kept in the chest pocket of my blue coat, but decided against it as I dislike making a scene.
From the sparse list of food I chose to order a steak, with a side order of onion rings, because I do like onion rings on a hot summer day. The weather outside was rather bracing, so a hot-day food would surely warm me up. I was wrong. The steak was mostly unpleasant and I had to cause a fuss. "This steak is chewy!" I yelled in the face of the bearded man, who turned an uncomfortable pink and promised to refresh my platter. He took twenty minutes, the vile poker-hound. He looked the sort to be on drugs. "Bearded man, I cried, bring me my meal for I fear I shall faint if sustinence is not placed before me."
He scurried into the kitched, probably to spit on my meal, and brought it to me with flailing ragdoll limbs. I couldn't eat it though, not with the thought of his flakes of dry-mouthed spit on my steak. I merely devoured my onions rings and slipped my steak into my coat pocket, the dogs would eat it instead.
I didn't leave the bearded man a tip, he'd probably have spent it on drugs or prostitutes anyway. And as prostituted were heavily involved in the incident in Berlin that stops me drinking wine I am against the entire issue.
I left the restaurant in a flurry and clip-clopped down the cobbled road to my prestene cottage. However a wolf blocked my path. He probably wanted to rob me for money to buy drugs. The wolf lunged at me and began tearing at my chest. I remembered the juicy steak in my pocket, and the bearded man spitting on it so I wouldn't eat it. It was all a plan to rob me for drug money. I knew it!
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