Eat at Frenchy’s (a very late Loki parody) By: Holden Kodish

“Hey, when did they open a new restaurant?”

I took out my headphones and turned to Michelle. “Sorry, what?”

“I asked when they opened up that new restaurant.” Michelle pointed at a building across the street. What was once a home for junkies and homeless people had, overnight, become an upscale restaurant.

“Frenchy’s” I read the restaurant's name out loud. “You think it’s a French toast place?”

“Either that or snails.” Michelle laughed at her joke. “You want to try it out?”

“Nah, I’m good. Not really hungry.” We continued walking. Michelle was telling me about her latest boy troubles. 

“You’d think it’d be easy to find a man who fits the 6-6-6 rule.” I started to remember why I put the headphones in the first place. But I sighed.

“What’s this 6-6-6 thing?” I asked her

“You know, 6 ft tall, 6 figure salary, and a 6 inch…”

Before she could finish her sentence, a door opened in front of us. Out of it poured a bunch of people. They looked like they were wearing SWAT gear, and held what seemed to be glowing batons. 

“You’re going to have to come with us.” They said as they grabbed the two of us. 

“My uncle’s a lawyer” Michelle lied “I know my rights!”

“Ms. Debois, we know that’s a lie. Your uncle runs a pawn shop in Jersey.”

As they threw us into the door, I squeaked out a question “What did we do wrong.”

The door began to close, as one of the guards implanted his baton into the ground. All he was able to say was “Next time, get something to eat.”

————————————

I shook my head

“Sorry, Michelle, what was that?”

“God, you have the attention span of a dog. I asked if you wanted to try it out.”

“Um, sure.” I shrugged. “I could eat.”

This story has been sponsored by Frenchy’s: Eat like your life depends on it.