pattern like this. As the hydrocab pulled away, the Avatar stood on the sidewalk trying to get a lock on the pattern, but he failed. His stomach growled, and the Avatar smiled, realizing that his hunger must have been clogging his intuition. But now the pattern was gone, softening to a vibration. Patterns did that sometimes, rising and falling for no apparent reason.The Avatar walked toward a restaurant next to the GIC building, Stacey's Cafe. It was the oldest business on the block, looking out ofplace nestled in the modern architecture of the San Francisco metropolitan area.
The Avatar entered and was greeted by the bartender from behind a large oval bar."Hi. Can I help you?"
"One for lunch," said the Avatar.
"We're closed between three and five. Can you come back at five?"
A pink-haired woman in her sixties, on the other side of the room, interrupted the Avatar's response. She was waving a half-eaten plate offood at the chef and getting agitated. "Look at this presentation! This is crap! My name is on this business and you want to serve crap! If people want crap they can make it at home!" The chef's eyes were locked in a death stare with the pink-haired woman as she dramatically slapped the dish on the table.
"I want you to care about this place as much as I do! If you don't, I can replace your ass tomorrow! "The pink-haired woman harrumphed and turned away. Then turned back with an afterthought. "That reminds me," she said in a softer voice that seemed as though she was channeling an entirely different person, "have you written down all your recipes so I can fire you any time I want?"
"Almost. I have a few more to do," said the chef.
"Very good. Give me a hug."
The pink-haired lady hugged the chef, who smiled and chuckled before returning to the kitchen."I have new pictures of my baby ifyou want to see them," said the chef over his shoulder.
"Nah.But ifyou get some pictures of your cat, bring them in. I love cats. Kids, not so much. "The chef laughed again as he disappeared into the kitchen.
The Avatar watched the scene in its entirety before looking at the bartender and saying,"I didn't realize you were closed. I will find something from a vending machine."
The pink-haired woman moved in on him. "Vending machine? You walk into my restaurant and say you want to eat from a frickin' vending machine? What is your story, blanket-boy?" The Avatar just looked at her and smiled. She said, "I'm Stacey. I own this joint. Well, technically I have a partner, but he isn't worth a damn. Sit down and we'll make you something." Stacey gestured toward a table in the empty dining room. The Avatar complied, taking a seat in the middle of a sea of white tablecloths. Stacey opened the menu in front of him and started pointing. "You'll have one ofthese. No, forget that, Ijust tore the chef a new one about this dish, so take this one. That's my favorite."
"I should eat your favorite food?" asked the Avatar, enjoying the show.
"Everyone should eat my favorite food, Gandhi, unless you're on a hunger strike.You aren't on a hunger strike, are you?"
"I don't go to restaurants for my hunger strikes," the Avatar answered.
"One vegetablecroute!"yelled Stacey in the general direction of the kitchen. A frightened line cook nodded.
"And a glass of water, please," said the Avatar.
"You'll have wine."
"I only want water."
"One Chardonnay."
Stacey made hand signals to the bartender, who was still wiping water spots offthe bar glasses. He nodded and started to pour a Chardonnay. Stacey pulled out a chair and sat down across from the Avatar. "I think I have a headache or a tumor or something. I gained two pounds this week and my hair is falling out in clumps. And I have gas. Don't say I didn't warn you."
"Thank you for the warning."
"I don't know how I do this job every day. I'm going to quit. I swear I am. Except it wouldn't work because I own the place. I'd fire my ass if I could, but I don't want to pay the unemployment benefits to
The Avatar entered and was greeted by the bartender from behind a large oval bar."Hi. Can I help you?"
"One for lunch," said the Avatar.
"We're closed between three and five. Can you come back at five?"
A pink-haired woman in her sixties, on the other side of the room, interrupted the Avatar's response. She was waving a half-eaten plate offood at the chef and getting agitated. "Look at this presentation! This is crap! My name is on this business and you want to serve crap! If people want crap they can make it at home!" The chef's eyes were locked in a death stare with the pink-haired woman as she dramatically slapped the dish on the table.
"I want you to care about this place as much as I do! If you don't, I can replace your ass tomorrow! "The pink-haired woman harrumphed and turned away. Then turned back with an afterthought. "That reminds me," she said in a softer voice that seemed as though she was channeling an entirely different person, "have you written down all your recipes so I can fire you any time I want?"
"Almost. I have a few more to do," said the chef.
"Very good. Give me a hug."
The pink-haired lady hugged the chef, who smiled and chuckled before returning to the kitchen."I have new pictures of my baby ifyou want to see them," said the chef over his shoulder.
"Nah.But ifyou get some pictures of your cat, bring them in. I love cats. Kids, not so much. "The chef laughed again as he disappeared into the kitchen.
The Avatar watched the scene in its entirety before looking at the bartender and saying,"I didn't realize you were closed. I will find something from a vending machine."
The pink-haired woman moved in on him. "Vending machine? You walk into my restaurant and say you want to eat from a frickin' vending machine? What is your story, blanket-boy?" The Avatar just looked at her and smiled. She said, "I'm Stacey. I own this joint. Well, technically I have a partner, but he isn't worth a damn. Sit down and we'll make you something." Stacey gestured toward a table in the empty dining room. The Avatar complied, taking a seat in the middle of a sea of white tablecloths. Stacey opened the menu in front of him and started pointing. "You'll have one ofthese. No, forget that, Ijust tore the chef a new one about this dish, so take this one. That's my favorite."
"I should eat your favorite food?" asked the Avatar, enjoying the show.
"Everyone should eat my favorite food, Gandhi, unless you're on a hunger strike.You aren't on a hunger strike, are you?"
"I don't go to restaurants for my hunger strikes," the Avatar answered.
"One vegetablecroute!"yelled Stacey in the general direction of the kitchen. A frightened line cook nodded.
"And a glass of water, please," said the Avatar.
"You'll have wine."
"I only want water."
"One Chardonnay."
Stacey made hand signals to the bartender, who was still wiping water spots offthe bar glasses. He nodded and started to pour a Chardonnay. Stacey pulled out a chair and sat down across from the Avatar. "I think I have a headache or a tumor or something. I gained two pounds this week and my hair is falling out in clumps. And I have gas. Don't say I didn't warn you."
"Thank you for the warning."
"I don't know how I do this job every day. I'm going to quit. I swear I am. Except it wouldn't work because I own the place. I'd fire my ass if I could, but I don't want to pay the unemployment benefits to
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