In a greasy spoon cafeteria, I take stock of my situation. I briefly ponder the pandemonium in my head and seriously consider aborting this trip altogether.
I am falling in and out of love with the waitress as I peruse the menu and wonder which way is up. I am hopelessly, fearlessly, head-over-heels when she cuts into the key lime pie... sickeningly alone and black-hearted, watching as she refills the coffee maker... love-sick as a secret book of poems while she wipes down the lunch counter and finally I’m in the throes of dejected depression as she comes to take my order.
This behaviour, I assume to accurately surmise, is no way out. Of course, this is no way in either, so in the interest of inertia and remaining true to all the truths of the cosmos, I shall carry on.
Enter, Mr. M.R. Yao, Esq.