The Art of Eating Toast

“The phrase "You're Toast" is often used to refer to those who are about to suffer brutal damage at the hands of the speaker.” Wikipedia

Press play.

The interior of the café is not unpleasant. The smell is not revolting. The pale blue walls and general underwater ambience are enough, however; to impress upon the enterer the feeling he’s stepped inside a fish tank. Tables and chairs are old and worn, perhaps salvaged from the hulk of a sunken ship, lost at some ragged spot upon a rocky coast, in the deep dark woods, of the soul. Somewhere behind an iron door, a radio is playing rag time classics.

Behind a door, it is playing.

Indeed, one chair in particular may catch the eye of the hapless seeker of a hearty breakfast. Painted a fire engine red and adorned with the purple face of Barney the Dinosaur, it appears quite out of place among the rest of the faded grey furniture. There is something strangely comfortable looking about it; perhaps the only chair in the room with some form of cushioning material. And it is upon this very red chair, above all else, that the dweller on the threshold desires to rest his weary legs. Therefore you lead your sleepy companion to a corner of the room and sit yourself down upon your very red chair, satisfied with your choice of seating and the fact that your companion has to sit on a much less comfortable and interestingly coloured, grey chair. Menu now in hand, there can no doubting the special appeal for the hungry and hung-over traveller, of the adequate and reasonably priced mini grill.

Travellers between late night and early morning are we, upon this stage of life.

But it’s only after the moustachioed waiter has taken your order, complemented you on your excellent choice of seating and disappeared behind the iron door that strange questions begin to arise in your mind’s inner mind, like:

What’s behind the iron door?
Does the mini grill come with toast?
Did that old guy get toast with his?
Did he get the more expensive mixed grill?
Is my companion getting up to go for a number one or a number two?

In this life there are only questions. Does one really enjoy a toilet activity or is it more a feeling of relief? Is enjoyment and relief the same thing?
You make ask who they are, this greasy waiter bringing out two plates of grilled rot, that old prick with his basket of toast and more luxurious mixed grill, your strange companion who hasn’t said a word since entering the café. Do they enjoy all this business? You want nothing but a small basket of toast.
“Can I get some toast with that?” You demand desperately above a plate of grilled junk.

People move in and out. A child enters in its young fathers arms, crying and pointing in your direction. Your companion returns and hands you a phone he found in the hallway.

The human eye usually takes a number of split seconds to focus on a digital image. The focus time however is unique to each pair of eyes. The average time it takes between looking at an image and our brain making sense of what we are seeing is usually about 0.02 seconds. However, after a time you will comprehend the image on the phone is a photo of a purple dinosaur attacking a clearly distressed man, who is sitting on a very red chair, at a grey table, in a small café.

The inside of the café however, is not unpleasant.

In fact you are so astonished by the image that you are quite unaware of the purple dinosaur that has entered the room from behind the iron door and has come to stand at your side holding a basket of toast and an electric carving knife, until he screams in a shrill feminine voice:

“You’re toast, fucker!” and proceeds to carve you open.

Behind the iron door time slows down. Chairs have been placed at tables, floors have been swept. The moment has come and the sound of nervous shuffling echoes through the great halls. A thousand dinosaur eyes roll and stare and blink in the darkness.

Breakfast is served.