2 A.M. The Village Inn

Much to the dismay of and sometimes comic relief to the hard working graveyard shift waitresses and waiters in late night after the bar closes munchie havens it is not unusual to find many similarly self induced cognitively challenged individuals as this one.

“Arughthuzapt.” The man slurred to the waitress. “Sir, I’m sorry. Could you repeat your order?” She replied in a tired, depleted voice. Her already building headache began pounding now. “Absthord bich !” he spat out, irritated that she did not understand. A small but visible drool escaped from the corner of the man’s mouth as he shakily rose to leave. He was visibly frustrated with the way he was not treated with the utmost respect from the staff. “Flothrom sfaft dith !” he exclaimed while holding himself upright against an adjoining table. Soon enough the man felt himself become as one with the carpet. “Shlurrrthp.” An odd trailing crept back into his nose as he looked to find his footing. Quickly, he pulled someone’s foot from his mouth. To his almost immediate surprise he noticed they wore the same type shoes as himself. With the same graceful transition he rejoined his friends at their booth, waking one of them through an accidental displacement of a water glass. Just moments later he was able to help the previously unnoticed but kind policemen to their car.

Tormen Tagain