Instead of roasted broccoli (with some sort of meat) from Bittles wit da Vittles, I wound up waiting under an overpass in a parking lot where a motorcycle club meets up and slurping oysters out of a Styrofoam container on my way back to the Autocrat club.
The woman who had sent me in that direction offered to roll over with me and the woman who helped me figure out how to order insisted on escorting me back.
She wouldn't even take an oyster.
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