They had worked together for two years in the hot, cramped kitchen. The chef patron was hell on wheels and treated his brigade with disrespect and a cruel hand. That day, the staff, lead by the sous chef had decided something needed to be done.
Supper that day was somber. The chef was nowhere to be seen. A regular patron signaled Charles, the maitre d', over to her table. One of her cutlets had a tattoo.
No comments:
Post a Comment
I WILL REJECT ANY CHINESE OR JAPANESE IDIOMATIC WRITING, AUTOMATICALLY.