The Stressful Flavor

Background chatter fills my ears, I feel the impatient eyes swarming on my back, the decision must be made. I stand there confused, hoping someone will tell me the answer. I look up to the tall figure that towers over me, awaiting my choice. I plead it for help, a suggestion, a sign, but it continues to gaze its emotionless gaze. The chatter and the eyes become consuming. The towering figure grows impatient; the time to decide is now. I look up at the figure, into its barely visible eyes and say, "I think I'll have the vanilla please.''

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