Four Shreddings and a Numeral
by Martin Bolton
The waiter at the Swindon Travelodge was strangely nervous. Sweat glistened on his twitching brow.
“I’ll have the lasagne,” said Simon.
“The… the lasagne,” the waiter tugged at his collar with one bony finger and gave a maniacal, high-pitched cackle. “You’re… you’re absolutely sure you want the lasagne.”
“I recommend the fish and chips,” argued the waiter. Perspiration poured freely down his face.
“The lasagne please.” Continue reading