The interior of 20 Bray is... for the lack of better words, we’ll just that. Lacking. Cheerilee is sitting across the table, nervously picking and prodding through the over stuffed salad; stopping here and there to take little bites.

“These fancy shmancy places always overdress the salads... and while I understand where and why the chef put these ingredients together, for some reason it just doesn’t tie together properly.” Cheerilee grumbles, playing around with a cherry tomato on the end of her fork.

“Welllll, don’t eat it then. I reckon I shouldn’t have to remind a teacher of all the starving ponies across the seas, and something along the lines of beggars can’t be choosers.” I let out out a little chortle, as I finish the rest of my portion, fighting back every urge to not purge the overly salty, and utterly soggy greens and veggies I just inhaled to make a point.

Author's Note

Someone take this story off my hands, I want it to go to someone capable of keeping this going and giving it a proper story arc and ending. I can’t, it’s been years without an update. I never forgot, just life has a funny way of getting in the way. I’m about to be a fuckin marine, so I really need someone to take some of my stories off my hands.