“Heeeeeere is your Half Turkey-Panini with cup of corn chowder.” You breezed while floating around the table. “Natural all-beef burger with bacon and Gorgonzola? Oh Yeaaah. Smells ammazing.” I looked to the others for any signs of acknowledgment or appreciation of your enthusiasm.
When we had finished you were upon us with a quickness and intuition only known by masters of your craft. All of our plates were stacked neatly on your arm when I finally noticed that it wasn’t. The smooth, beige, baton-like prosthetic balanced the remnants of our food like an infant on a mother’s knee – I felt a certain comfort. “Ooooh, you’re paying with debit? You’ll have to go up to the front to do that. Our machine is immmmobile.” You consoled.