by Tara Loughead
Copyright 2010 Tara Loughead
"Welcome to the Crimson Okra restaurant, gentlemen. You are here for our renowned special, I believe?"
"Yes, yes we are," answered the diner seated directly opposite the the black-tie clad Head Waiter. Behind this first guest, seen through splendid glass doors, the sun was rapidly setting.
"Here are your menus then gentlemen." He passed the well-dressed quartet their fancily embossed lists from a bundle under his arm. "Can I interest you in drinks?"
"Sure, bring us a couple of bottles of sparking shiraz to start with."
"Certainly, sir," he replied, motioning to a waitress, who nodded and headed for the bar. "Now, while you wait, I'd like to draw your attention to the conditions." He opened a menu, and indicated a block of text at the bottom. "In particular, guests are reponsible for their own drycleaning. Bloodstains included."
"Bloodstains?" The second diner. "Oh." Recognition dawned.