If only the dishes did themselves, then
there'd be no one to dilly dally regarding the dishes, I mean, we'd
live in a perfect society, a perfect world, a perfect dish; garnished
with duck sauce, soy sauce, white sauce, even peppercorn, cracked
(sauce), a better dressing to compliment the already over-tossed
salad that is the United Nations, the disgruntled doctor's stations,
measly meandering mason jars of mushrooms, instilling illusions of
grandeur for the patients waving blindly at those doctor's stations,
ringing a bell or buzzing a buzzer, alerting the half-asleep guard of
their melancholic mishap once again, one minute to midnight.
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