It was a most troubling delivery for Godot’s Bistro. Clearly, the newest methamphetamines prescribed to his now second-favorite sous-chef did precisely their job in handling their worsening ADHD symptoms by obliterating a sense of general rationality altogether.
“I must have… missed a decimal or two on the distributor’s tags,” the distressed sous-chef exclaimed, breaking out in hives due to the sudden onset of a minor shellfish allergy.
Godot stared at walk-in freezer, noting idly that because it no longer had space to walk in, the large thermoregulating device might be having a crisis of identity or purpose. He felt strangely empatico with the oversized icebox – he, too, felt distantly like he might be having a crisis himself.
“Chef, I think I may cry.”
“You may. Not I, though. No, I do not weep at the world – I am too busy sharpening my oyster knife.”
Prompt: Use of the quote, “”No, I do not weep at the world – I am too busy sharpening my oyster knife.” in a 144-word or less piece of prose. The quote itself is from Zora Neale Hurston, “How Does it Feel to be Colored Me” in World Tomorrow (1928), while the prompt was provided by the kind writers over at the pub, dVerse, as part of their Monday Prosery Series.