"FWLS39" - читать интересную книгу автора (A Future We'd Like to See)

"Have you ordered yet?"

"No."

"Good, because I'm allergic to a lot of stuff... *SNIFF*.
Excuse me. What do they have here?"

"Steak, I think."

"Oooh. That's not so good. Meat doesn't sit well with me.
Gives me gas. Do they have anything else?"

"Ummm..." I looked over the menu. Steak, steak, steak,
steak, steak, steak, french fries. "They have fries."

"I hope they don't pepper them," she said, wiping her nose.
Again.

The waitress walked up to the table, and clicked out a pen
point. "What'll it be?"

"Steak for me," I said, folding my menu.

"Do you use all natural potatoes?" Nancy asked, stabbing a
finger randomly at the menu.

"You don't wanna know," the waitress said.

"Oh. I guess I'll have to risk it... make sure they don't
put any pepper on that, and I'll have the fries."

The waitress wrote up the order, and left with a whisk of
static-guarded skirt.

"So... ah... what do you do for a living?" I asked Nancy,
sipping my grape soda.

"I work down at the C'atel sewage treatment plant," Nancy
said, pulling out a fresh hanky. "Don't worry, my doctor says
I'm not infected with anything today. Just a nagging cold."

"Umm... yeah."

"So what do you do?" she asked.

"Me? Well, I'm a drummer."

"Really? What do you drum?"

"Err... songs?"