Left with a Bad Taste

Dabbing my mouth with my handkerchief due to the lack of napkins at the table, I wave for my check. The food was just palatable enough for me to not have to excuse myself to the bathroom during my meal, though I couldn’t guarantee that I’d be spending some quality time in one later on.

The bill was flung at my table by a nearby waitress. The price was the only thing about this wretched place that reflected its supposedly high-class state. I supplied the appropriate cash – not wanting to risk handing over a credit card – and left, beginning my review on a notepad.

“I could not honestly recommend the ’Siren’s Call’ to anyone with functioning taste buds or weak gastrointestinal fortitude….”

I found a small booth at a nearby coffee shop, bought a drink to clear my palette, and opened up my laptop to finish my article.

After it had been submitted, my path home brought me past the front to the ’Siren’s Call’. As usual, there were no signs now that it had ever existed.

I hate having to write bad reviews.

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